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Subject: {ASSM} Castle In The Sand [1-5]
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Castle In The Sand [1-5]
Copyright 1996 by D. J. Pedersen
By: "thaumaturge" (Deana Johns) <Deana.Johns@softcom.net>
(M/f, ff, MF)

All rights reserved. Limited permission to post is granted providing
this header remains intact. May not be posted to any pay sites. May be
offered as part of a collection, also provided this header remains
intact. Permission to archive is also granted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

John Stevens pulled off the highway into the lot of the combination gas
station and miniature market. He drove forward to the pumps and turned
off the aging van. The silence roared loudly in his ears. He had been
on the road since just after dawn, it was now late afternoon. He
stretched and then eased his tired, cramped body down out of the
drivers seat.

Setting the gasoline pump nozzle to fill his tank, he headed towards
the store. A sign pointing to rest rooms diverted him to the side and
he cured a large portion of his discomfort. Some time later he squoze
the last few drops of gas into his tank and replaced the nozzle into
the pump.

Heading back to the market, he noticed how each of them had begun to
resemble one another all across the country. With only minor
variations, such as in places that allowed gambling or lottery's. This
one sported a large lottery printer next to the cash register. He
picked through this stores version of pre-made tasteless-sandwiches,
grabbed a bag of generic potato chips and refilled his travel mug from
the coffee pot. Gathering up his selections, he moved to the counter. A
cute blonde girl in her early twenties looked up from her book. She
seemed to shrink back into herself at the sight of John. Another
portion of John's discomfort stabbed at him momentarily.

"Is that all?" asked the blonde, looking at the gas counter instead of
at John.

"No, give me a lottery *quick pick* too," mumbled John. The girl poked
a button on the lotto machine and it spit a ticket out the top. The
girl pulled it out and handed it to John.

"That will be $24.56 with the gas," said the girl. John fished a twenty
and a five out of his wallet and handed them to the girl.

"Oh, can I get a receipt for the gas?" he asked. The girl frowned but
nodded. She grabbed a gas voucher pad and scribbled out the receipt by
hand. Making certain to exactly fill in the price of the fuel. She
handed it to John along with the coins from his change and instantly
went back to her book. John fumbled with his change and selections and
managed to make it back out to the Van. The girl hadn't offered him a
sack to make the task easier. He got the door open and leaned in to set
his load on the center console. He spilled some of his coffee in the
process and cussed as he set about wiping it up. He finally hauled
himself into the driver's seat and started the van. He pulled off to
the side of the lot to eat his lunch where he would be out of the way.
He thoughtfully watched the girl in the store as he ate.

"One of these days, you'll get yours!" he mused to himself. He didn't
mean it. John had never gotten along with women very well. The few he
had had dealings with had only taken advantage of him and then left. He
had an ex-wife and a child who didn't know him, or care to. He pushed
the thought out of his head, finished his lunch and hit the road once
more. Days later John was reclining on a motel bed several states away.
He was browsing through a publication that offered surplus government
property and real estate for *re-sale*. He'd picked it up from a free
dispenser from yet another market. You could probably get any of the
property it listed cheaper, but you'd have to know how. Some of it was
quite amusing:

   {One 50 acre plot of land with obsolete missile silo dead center,
   $562,000} The ad included a general location and contact numbers.

'That would be kind of neat,' thought John to himself. "Complete with
*High Speed* Sunroof!" He chuckled at his own joke and reached over to
turn out the light. He had another long day of driving to do the next
day. John fell asleep wondering what someone would want with a used
Missile Silo. At 4:26 A.M. his eyes slammed open and he knew.

He fumbled for his pack of smokes as he thought about the concept
flooding into his psyche. A missile silo... good god, it must be over a
hundred fifty feet deep and forty to fifty feet in diameter. Talk about
room! The majority of it resided in earth that remained at a constant
56 degrees year round, talk about energy efficient! It was bound to be
out in the middle of nowhere, talk about privacy! If there were only
some way for him to pull it off. John's credit wasn't the best on the
planet. Several corporate downsizes and a marriage downsize had left
him flat ass busted. He owed people in six different states, not to
mention the IRS and several State tax commission's. His ex-wife was
threatening him with hard time for his arrears.

"But what a neat place to live!" he mumbled to himself as he stabbed
out his smoke and looked at the clock..... He moaned a bit at the
thought of an early wake-up call. He flicked off the light and tried to
force himself to sleep as his mind raced along full of budding
construction plans and ideas about solar heat and power. The morning
found him groggy as he stumbled to the shower. His mind already back
working on the idea of the silo as a house. Two days and several more
states later, John was listening to the only thing a radio will pick up
in the wide open spaces of the West; staticy AM.

The stations format was that of a right wing talk show. On a news break
there was a story about a State lottery worth fourteen million dollars
that some idiot hadn't claimed at yet. They only had three more days
before they lost it. John punched in a well worn oldies tape to kill
the static. Five miles down the road he suddenly swerved to the side
and slammed on the brakes.

His hands were shaking and his breath came in gasps as he searched
through his wallet for the ticket he had purchased almost a week
previous. He found it rumpled and sandwiched between gas receipts and
business cards. He was shaking so hard he could barely read the
numbers. He checked them off one by one as he could remember them from
the news broadcast; "14, 23, 33, 31, 45 and 27 as the bonus".

John let out a holler like a kid on his first drunk; he was a
millionaire! After he screamed himself hoarse and then smoked himself
relatively calm once more, he suddenly sobered. He had a piece of paper
that was worth fourteen million dollars in his wallet. He was a day and
a half's drive away from the state he had purchased it in, and had
about forty-three dollars and change to his name.

He reached under the seat and pulled out the old .357 Python he
traveled with. He had mostly forgotten about it. He felt a pang of fear
over the serious trouble it could have caused him all the times he had
gotten speeding tickets and had forgotten that it was even there. He
cracked it open and checked it. Live bullets in five of the six
cambers. Just as it should have been. He carefully lowered the hammer
onto the empty cylinder and stashed it back, but within easy reach. He
looked in back of the van at the selection of electronics equipment
from his sales route.

"Fuck that shit!" he chuckled to himself. He managed to pull back out
on the highway. His mind was racing much faster than the odd car that
came careening around him as he toodled along at a slower speed, safer
for the old van. John hated lawyers with a passion. He had never had
what could be termed "*a pleasurable experience*" with any of them.
Still, he was no fool. He knew he needed a good tax lawyer... and right
now! As he drove along he formulated plans on what to do, and how to do
it best. He had calmed down considerably, but his driving still wasn't
the best.

When he pulled into the first 100,000 plus population city on the way
he stopped at the first phone booth. He found what he was looking for
in the yellow pages under "Banks". He selected a bank that was a well
known chain in the West, but hadn't pissed him off *too* much in the
past. He looked up the address of the main branch in town and scribbled
it down. It never occurred to him how he looked.... or smelled. The
previous night -to save money and make up time on his route- he had
slept in his van at a rest stop rather than a motel.

When he walked in and asked to see the manager, the teller turned kind
of white and half reached for the alarm button. John's clothes were
rumpled, dirty and food stained. His hair greasy and straggly. He had
several days growth beard on his face and a wild look in his eye. When
the manager came out he reacted much the same as the teller.

"Could we talk privately about a serious banking problem?" John asked,
almost casually. The Manager motioned the teller with his eyes to keep
a close watch as he led John to a glassed office enclosure.

"What can I do for you then, Uh.. Mr....?"

"Stevens," John replied, sinking uninvited into a seat.

"So what's this problem you need so urgently to talk about, Mr.
Stevens?" the manager persisted. (The sooner he got this guy out of his
office the better, the smell of old sweat and unwashed clothes was
beginning to make him ill.) John bided his time as he looked about the
office. He was savoring the thought of the change he knew he was about
to see in this asshole.

"Well... I just suddenly came into a bit of money and I kind of need
some investment help and tax advice, I think that maybe your bank is
*big* enough to handle it."

"I see," said the manager, putting his hands together, "Perhaps you
could be better served by one of our investment counselors. Shall I see
when I can book you an appointment with one? Just how much money did
you ... uh come by?"

"Uh... fourteen million dollars.. but if you're too busy, perhaps I'll
just pick another bank," John said softly.

"Perhaps that would be..." The manager abruptly stopped talking. He
turned half white and cleared his throat. Out at the counter the teller
poised her finger over the alarm button. Finally he said, "Excuse me,
but I thought I heard you say fourteen *million* dollars."

"You heard right," said John, chuckling. "Now, do you have the time to
talk to me, or should I pick another bank?"

"Well, no. Of course I have the time to talk to you. I try to make time
for *all* our customers...... Forgive me, but if you don't mind my
asking: Just how did you come by this sum of money?" he managed to
croak out. He was still dubious, but the sum in question demanded he
treat the matter seriously.

"I won the lottery..." John replied, grinning like a saber toothed
tiger.

"The lottery... We don't have a lottery in this state," replied the
manager curtly. He started to turn a bit red, thinking he had been led
on.

"Didn't say I'd won it here," replied John, looking at his fingernails.
He happened to notice how dirty they were and it reminded him of his
overall condition. He sat up straight and reached for his wallet. The
manager leaned back suddenly like John was reaching for a gun. The
teller's finger descended on the button and all hell broke loose.

"What the hell's that?" asked John swiveling around in his chair.

"You'd be well advised to give it up now," the manager gasped out. He
didn't realize that his own action had spooked the teller. He thought
that maybe the teller had seen John reaching for a gun or something
that he couldn't see.

"What the hell are you talking about?" demanded John, puzzled, looking
around anxiously.

"The police are already on their way. You'd be well advised to give up
quietly?" stuttered the manager, rolling his chair back away from his
desk and John.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I was just reaching for my
lottery ticket to show you," stammered John. Just then the police
descended on the bank. The teller pointed to the manager's office and
within seconds, John found himself thrown roughly face down on the
carpet. The carpet burned his cheek and he hit his head on the door jam
as the two burly cops slapped the cuffs on his wrists. "What the fuck
is going on?" shouted John.

"You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an
attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney......." one cop recited from
long weary memory.

"What happened here?" the other cop demanded of the Bank Manager. The
manager was pale and speechless. His gaze rested on a lottery ticket
strewn with the other papers from John's wallet when the cops had
ripped him out of his seat.

"I think that maybe there has been a *very* big mistake made here," he
finally croaked out.

"Yeah! and you made it, fuck head!" John spat into the carpet.

"Shut the fuck up, you!" said the cop on top of John, putting his knee
on his head and driving his nose further into the carpet.

"No! No! Please let him up! He's done nothing! I think one of my
tellers just misinterpreted the situation!" the manager cried.

"What?" asked both cops at once.

"MR. STEVENS is *valued* customer at this bank! Please let him up!" the
manager said, authority returning to his voice... for perhaps the last
time.

"FUCK YOU! If you think I'd do business with this bank now!" John
mumbled into the carpet.

"I told you to shut up!" said the cop on top of him. Kneeling harder on
his head.

"So this guy didn't try to rob your bank?" asked the other cop.

"No, he didn't. It was all a big mistake. NOW PLEASE, LET HIM UP!"

"O-kay... " said the cop on John's head, slowly getting up but putting
more pressure on it as he did so. He reached down and began to undo the
handcuffs, straining John's aching arms up higher on his back as he did
so. John slowly lifted his head. Six more cops now waited just outside
the office, guns drawn, waiting for the slightest good reason to shoot
him. John didn't give them one as he slowly got to his knees. Blood ran
out of his nose and into his mustache. His head throbbed where he had
hit the door jam. He slowly gathered up his papers and wallet, gripping
the lottery ticket tightly when he found it. He stuffed the rest into
his pockets.

"I'm so sorry about all this, MR. STEVENS!" moaned the bank manager, "I
hope this won't influence your decision to do business with our
institution." John slowly looked at him as he pulled out a handkerchief
and applied it to his nose.

"Fuck You!" he said simply.

"Hey, watch your mouth!" said the cop who had been on John's head. John
looked at him and then looked around at the other cops who were putting
their guns away, slowly, with a disappointed look on their faces.

"Who's in charge here?" John demanded.

"I am! It's my case," said the cop who had been talking.

"There is no case, so you aren't. Who's your watch commander?" John
demanded.

"I am," said one of the disappointed ones. "You'll have to make any
complaints through the Attorney General's office though."

"I've got no complaints... *yet*. I just want your protection while I
walk across the street to another bank," John said.

"Why would you need protection to do that?" asked the commander.

"Because this here Lottery ticket is worth *fourteen million dollars*!"
said John, holding it up. There was a gasp and then a sudden silence in
the crowd of police and on-lookers.

Finally the watch commander recovered himself and said, "I'd be glad to
accompany you, SIR."

"Yeah, I thought you would," John mumbled.

"But Mr. Stevens, this was all just a big mistake. You don't have to go
elsewhere," stammered the Bank Manager. Everyone ignored him as they
followed John out the door. Suddenly John was a celebrity who needed
protection. The cops fanned out and stopped traffic for him like he was
the President. Scanning the rooftops for unsuspected lotto terrorists.
John didn't care that this particular bank had once pissed him off with
an outrageous overdraft charge.

He walked straight up to the manager's desk with the watch commander at
his side and giving the manager no time to utter a word, stated: "This
is the winning lottery ticket for a fourteen million dollar State
lottery. I'd like your assistance in collecting it."

"Certainly, Sir!" stammered the Manager, jumping up. "If you'll just
have a seat!" Back in the first bank the other manager looked after the
parade of police spread out around the doors and then down at the blood
stains on his carpet. He could sense the upward motion of his career
had come to a screeching halt.

"Shut off that god damned alarm!" he yelled to the teller.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

Two days later a much cleaner looking John posed for television
camera's as he received a check that was physically the size of the
fish that got away. The check was only a token for the camera's. He
wasn't about to really get the whole amount in one lump sum. If he had,
the IRS would have gotten most of it anyway. The bank had actually set
him up with a *very* good tax attorney *team*. He had spent most that
day with them and expected to spend several more.

The first action of the second bank manager was to phone the State
lottery commission in question and let them know he had a prospective
winner. He faxed a copy of the ticket to them for preliminary
evaluation. Once the ticket was verified as *probably* legitimate, the
bank had advanced him five thousand dollars in travelers checks and
flash processed a gold credit card with a fifteen thousand dollar
limit. After locking up the ticket for the night in a safety deposit
box, the bank manager had personally escorted him to the nicest hotel
in town. A few of the cops rode along side, *just in case* ....two
actually escorted him onto the plane (courtesy of the bank).

The bottom line worked out to a lump sum -after taxes- of $287,353.42,
with a like amount to be paid each year, for basically the rest of his
life. The lawyers set up a trust account for his long lost child that
suddenly "missed him dearly" and a $28,000 lump cash settlement for his
ex-wife (who fired *her* lawyer because he had convinced her that John
would "never amount to much" and that it wasn't worth haggling over the
dollar-a-year alimony that John was opposed to when they got divorced.)

John's ex-wife was *suddenly* in love with him all over again. He told
her *and* her fickle fledgling to fuck off, that he never wanted to see
either of them again. He bought the requisite sports car and new
clothes. At what had been his local watering hole he bought the house a
round... most all night long. Several of the women who wouldn't have
given him a second glance before, became seriously infatuated with him.
He alternated nights at his old rental between the two cutest of them
for about a week before they started hinting that he ought to move up
in the world (and take them with him). This reminded John of the
missile silo. Two days later he was looking at it *without* the gold
diggers. A week later it was his.

John was pretty well ready for a break from the world when he purchased
the Silo. From the time he entered the work force, he had quickly
worked his way up through the ranks in the electronics world. Starting
off repairing amplifiers and receivers. As a technician he worked his
way up through various jobs until he topped out as a prototype
technician in a microwave lab. He was hired contingent against a large
government contract for a NATO base, which the company wasn't granted.
Fifteen minutes after this was known, he was on the street unemployed.
There was no place else for him to go in his home town. Refusing to
take a down in his career, and the emotional crisis of his divorce
still fresh within him, he headed for the mythical Mecca of Silicon
Valley.

Silicon Valley; The land of the Pro's. A magical feeling in the very
air of the place, millionaires springing up like weeds around garage
companies. . John spent months parked in his uncle's driveway, sleeping
in his old V.W. bus. Living off his last unemployment checks from his
home state while he went from company to company leaving r�sum�s.
Nobody wanted to hire him, as he had no *local* experience. Finally he
accepted a position as an entry level technician in a calibration lab
of a defense contractor, as his funds were virtually exhausted.

John had expected his climb in Silicon Valley to be a hard one. This
*was* the *land of the Pro's*. Much to his surprise and delight, his
previous broad experience made him one of the best technicians in the
valley. Within six months he was promoted to Sr. Technician. Eighteen
months later he was in an engineering aide slot. A year later he held
the title of acting engineer. He wasn't just good at his job, he was
the best. As an engineer he quickly took on and acquired new talents
that the then burgeoning Defense electronics industry was hungry for.

Within half a decade, he was a full systems engineer specializing in
automated instrumentation. His seemingly lofty title: Metrology
Engineer. (Metrology being the science of measurement.) A shift to
another growing company netted him the title of Sr. Metrologist. Then
in the late '80's D�tente arrived. Defense spending plummeted and the
market was flooded with unemployed engineers. Non-degreed engineers
were among the first to go. Especially if they took their positions
seriously enough that they talked about recalling product because an
out-of-tolerance was discovered in a company standard. John was a very
*ethical* man. Which made him a natural target.

Starting his own, one man consulting firm, John subsisted on meager
earnings from consulting contracts which were quickly diminishing. He
skinned his nose real good pulling up from the resultant dive in his
finances. John finally had to give up his company and accept a position
as a field sales engineer. Which barely paid him enough to survive, not
in Silicon Valley, with its inflated real estate, but back in his home
town. He spent almost eleven months of the year on the road. His vast
experience in automated instrumentation making sale after sale
possible. But he didn't get the commissions. He designed the systems
based upon the customers' needs, then the real sales force would waltz
in and present the companies with a completed solution to their needs.
They got the commissions.

It wasn't what you really were, but rather what you appeared to be that
mattered the most. Despite twenty years of experience, John had no
degree, so he couldn't possibly be qualified for the positions he
actually held. John's dissolution with the world continued to grow.
What he wanted most, was a comfortable hole to crawl into and pull the
cover over it. The lottery provided him with the means to fulfill this
wish. The silo was the perfect vehicle for his desire.

Working on it supplied him with the solitude he desired. He threw
himself into the work for the sake of it, building his retreat from the
world. The firm John purchased the Silo from, had also been taken by
the size of it. They had picked it up at auction for a mere $17,000.
They had visions of building a retreat hotel in it, until the cost of
conversion and the realization that few people wanted to "get away from
it all" into a hole in the dessert sobered them to the fact that they
were out $17,000.

One of the more sobering facts, was that the concrete used on the silo
walls was among the hardest man made rock substance on earth. The cost
of drilling the walls to hang umpteen floors was way out of their
budget. They didn't bother to mention this to John, but he noticed
anyway before the deal was closed. The $562,000 the owners were asking
diminished fast. The land *was* in the middle of the desert, surrounded
by BLM land. The only access was across 32 miles of bad dirt road. He
made the purchase outright for $47,000 *cash*.

Three concrete cutting firms made estimates he quickly rejected. He
purchased several diamond drill bits and the equipment to run them
himself. Next he called around the country till he found the cheapest
load of steel I-beams that he could find. More calls located a used
winch motor used for *Jig Pole* radio tower installations. The first
project was mounting the winch motor to the concrete pad on the
surface.

The Silo was one hundred seventy feet deep by forty-five feet in
diameter. It was located roughly dead center of a fifty acre plot,
which was fully enclosed with a razor wire topped fence with impressive
looking signs about the use of deadly force on intruders. John left the
signs up. The gate got a digital controlled garage door mechanism.
There was another shaft descending parallel to the Silo, but off to the
side for the main elevator. This descended to a group of rooms that
were probably the launch facility. Between the elevator and silo, a set
of cement stairs zigzagged downwards.

A small cement boxed stairway ran down from the surface to a heavy
single door hatchway which opened into a large hallway staging area.
This hallway led some thirty five feet away from the silo and then
doubled back. to a smaller staging area. A communications room with a
small bathroom, an environmental control room and an elevator shaft led
off this area. Then a small hatchway led to a narrow hallway which
circumnavigated the top of the silo. There was a main transformer room
off the environmental control room. Here the three phase power lines
terminated in a bank of three large transformers. These fed a series of
main panels that fed out to sub panels throughout the silo. There was
also a switch over panel to interface with a diesel standby generator.

John found maintenance stops on the main elevator which opened into
small box rooms at half a dozen points on the way down. Each room had
hatchways opening into inspection tunnels like the one on the top level
and a small terminal and utility room which each contained a sub-main
power panel. A large heavy, tapered hatch opened into the silo from
each of these stops. From these one could access the four small service
elevators which hugged the walls. Each little more than cages on a
track. John fancied these up a bit to make them safer and more
convenient. There were also hatchways at mid-points between the
maintenance stops, accessible from the stairs.

The Silo came complete with an ISDN phone *trunk line* 132 pairs of
high quality phone lines - and an underground power feed which was
source metered, as it was the only customer on the line. He negotiated
activation of power and a portion of the trunk line for phone service
and Internet access. The power company was particularly thrilled as the
line was just wasting away. A small satellite dish supplied him with
entertainment when he got bored. A standby diesel generator purchased
from a used construction equipment firm rounded out his basic
necessities.

One of the first problems John encountered, was that the original
construction plans were "CLASSIFIED, SECRET, NOT AVAILABLE". After
repair and activation of the elevators, John spent most of a whole
month just surveying exactly what was, and wasn't there. The firm he
had purchased from had done considerable damage to wiring and
environmental equipment by ripping it out for salvage. He replaced what
he needed to, to get power and heat into a small apartment which had
probably been the launch control facility (based upon the amount of
wiring and the size of the door.).

He bought every appliance known to man for his apartment in the
meantime. His computer would have spun circles around many of the main
frame models of just a generation earlier. He used it to design his
hideaway and track the burn rate on his money. After a few months he
realized the burn rate was way too fast. A final purchase of a Hot tub,
washer, dryer, freezer, refrigerator and range finished up his major
expenses for a while, with the exception of an old flatbed truck he had
refurbished to safe running condition.

John mostly spent his days drilling walls. It was slow and dirty work.
Each hole had to be lubricated with water as it was drilled. Gray dust
filled most the silo. Gray streaks lined the walls. John worked hard
all day guiding the bit and breathing the dust, which was abundant,
despite the lubricating water. He finally realized that particle masks
had been invented years before. A cement chip zinging past an eyebrow
brought safety goggles and finally a face shield into usage.

The hardest part, was the lack of help. He could have easily hired
labor to help him, but he didn't feel like it. He spent hour after hour
planning how he would move each steel girder and plate. How he would
align heavy connections and manipulate beams while he fastened them
together. He purchased the necessary gear and converted his winch to a
radio controlled unit. He could drop a beam a quarter inch at a time if
need be, while sitting on it. Finally he got the I-beams in place for
the first floor. This actually gave him two as there was a concrete
floor already in place at the bottom. He welded corrugated iron sheets
on top of the I-beams and then topped that off with heavy particle
board.

When he started drilling holes on the second floor, he realized his
error. Water from the drilling process started down the walls toward
his new floor. He pulled the particle board back up and moved the whole
operation up to the top floor drilling location. This way he could move
*down* as each floor was completed. This lasted all of a day before he
realized he would lose positioning ability on his crane when he sealed
off the top. He spent a whole week replanning the whole thing. In the
end he went back down to the bottom to drill. As each layer of I-beam
frames was set, they were left uncovered.

Towards the end of the year the Silo resembled a big inside set of
*monkey bars*. However any one of the frames would have easily
supported a D-9 Caterpillar tractor. Next step was to run plumbing and
wiring to each stage. He pulled the corrugated iron back off the first
level to plumb and wire it as well. Next came heating systems. The most
logical for this set up was a hot water system. Almost by accident John
discovered several ducts running up and down the entire length of the
silo, but deep in the walls. They had probably been used to cool the
concrete when it was being poured.

On a hunch he searched the walls with a metal detector. He found the
water pipes he'd suspected running through the walls. They had probably
cooled the inner surface of the concrete while it set. He grinned ear
to ear thinking of their usage for solar heat. He had a major hunk of
land on the surface that was basically worthless for anything except
making solar heat. Using the metal detector he carefully marked the
position of every pipe within the walls. In the process he found
several unidentified metal traces. One group of these seemed to line up
almost exactly with the positions of each level he had chosen for a
floor anchor. A small perfect 1/2" hole marked each one. Careful
drilling around one of these revealed them as some sort of pressure
gauge, probably used to evaluate thrust on a missile if it was
launched. Each one however was on its own large conduit. He searched
out the other ends and found them terminated in the mass of wiring
which led into the launch room (his apartment.)

Each conduit contained a multi-cable capable of a dozen full bandwidth
video channels. He discovered how lucky he had been with the anchors;
almost any of them could easily have pierced either a water of wiring
conduit. Many of them passed within bare inches, but luckily, all
missed. He tried plotting the exact location of the air ducts using a
laser site, but he wasn't certain that they ran exactly vertical. He
solved the dilemma by lowering a coil of wire down each duct. He pulsed
a signal into the coil and detected it from the other side of the wall.
This allowed him to mark the path close enough to miss any pipes or
conduits. He drilled multiple one inch diameter holes into each of the
ducts on each level. This alone took an additional two weeks time.
However when he was finished, he used multiple blower fans at ground
level to removed much of the dust which had been building up. He ran
all of them at full speed while he descended to each level with an air
hose and thoroughly cleaned each one. Next he washed the whole silo
down from top to bottom.

The water and cement mud gathered in the cement bottom of the silo.
When it didn't drain anywhere he pumped it into 55 gallon barrels and
hoisted it by crane to the top. Then it struck him. Drain anywhere? The
bottom of the silo was a good 170 feet deep! Where would it drain to?
In fact, *how* did his toilet in the apartment drain? A two day survey
tracing pipes located a grinding pump on the lowest level which pumped
effluent up to ground level into a septic tank. A booster pump was
located halfway up in one of the maintenance closets.

Another day with a metal detector traced pipes from a leach field
running into two corners of the property. There were *two* fresh water
wells located in the opposite corners of the property. One was
seemingly just a capped pipe. He opened it and dropped weighted line
down till it hit water. Water level was a good 15 feet *above* the
floor of the silo. This meant one thing; the cement in the silo was
*totally* waterproof. This had to be so, or the lower part of the silo
would have been flooded from seepage from the outside. No seepage from
the outside meant no seepage from the inside.

He drilled more holes to anchor a platform and equipment, cleaned up
the whole thing spotless. Several layers of swimming pool paint were
applied and allowed to dry. Then he pumped fresh water in and he had a
swimming pool. One *damn cold* swimming pool! This he solved by
separating the wall cooling pipe system below the first level. A
separate pipe led from this section up to the solar collectors. He
installed automatic controls which regulated his pool at a much more
comfortable temperature.

Perhaps it wouldn't stay that warm come winter, which was fast
approaching, but he seldom used more than around 18% of the potential
from the array of solar heat panels he had installed. He pumped most of
the heat around the system and had to defocus the panels most of the
time. With all the natural insulation around the silo, it just didn't
take that much heat to make it comfortable. This was a good thing, as
John didn't think about the expansion of the concrete as it warmed. Had
he warmed it too quickly, it would have cracked, allowing the water
table outside to seep in, inundating the lower portion of the silo. It
was blind luck that it didn't.

He had a few ideas about how to improve things topside, but he was
running out of money. He realized the closeness to winter just in time
to finish up the top floor and move most the equipment down to it. He
ran snorkels out for his winch and generators to keep the fumes out and
noise down. A final trip into town on a mad buying spree for provisions
and equipment made a good number of the local merchants very happy.
They knew nothing about his retreat out in the desert. John had no
intention of telling anyone. On a whim, he bought a case of .357 and a
case of 38 special ammo. He could fire the 38's out of his Python,
according to the man at the gun shop, and they were cheaper.

He was intending to find out how well he could live in total seclusion.
During the summer he gave it no thought, he could always go to town if
he wanted to. But winter would be a different thing entirely; the road
which led to the silo wasn't exactly on the snow plow routes. The snow
could get up to three feet deep in this area, and drift over six. Just
in case, John bought a used snowmobile.

He made one trip to deliver a full load and stow it, then went back for
a load of carpentry power tools and lumber so he could work
uninterrupted through the winter. Finally he used the flatbed truck to
roll the launch roof back into place. (It spent most the time open, or
hastily tarped against any approaching storm.) Last step was having a
truck deliver enough fuel to run his generator for the winter. It was
the first time anybody had gotten near the silo since he had the steel
delivered. For some reason it made him uncomfortable to have anybody
know about the existence of his retreat.

He stretched a large tarp over the launch roof to disguise the true
nature of the place. All the driver would see would be a tarp covering
a platform like lump and the sturdy out buildings John had built to
house his car and snowmobile and keep a large supply of lumber dry. The
tank was buried to one side of the road coming in, intended for the
original standby generator that had been scrapped out. When the driver
showed, John was waiting in his car, like he had just driven out to
meet him. He ushered the driver to the fill point.

"Kind of a strange place for a fuel tank," said the driver, looking
around.

"Gonna be a Solar Research facility," John said.

"What's the fuel for?" asked the driver.

"Gotta run a generator to drive the solar panels," John replied.

"Huh," the driver grunted, "That's progress for ya."

"Well... Gonna mount a steam generator on the cells after they figure
out how much heat they will generate... I just go where they tell me,"
John said. He walked away to effectively cut off communication. The
driver shrugged and went on with his filling. John busied himself
tarping over the snowmobile and trailer. The driver waved to John when
he had topped off the tank. John walked over and signed for the fuel.

"Seems like a lot of fuel to power solar cells," commented the driver.

"Long term project... you know the government," said John.

"Yeah, don't forget to add stabilizers to that fuel if it's gonna sit
very long," the driver said, climbing back into his truck. John watched
the fuel truck pass into the distance. It seemed odd, but the driver
was probably the last human being that John would see until sometime in
spring, yet he had felt relieved when he was gone.

John locked the gate and made a further check of the topside assembly's
and equipment. He hitched his car to the snowmobile trailer and pulled
it into one of the sheds. He held off winterizing the car for now. He
did pour some diesel fuel in the truck and ran it till it died, then he
took out the battery, drained the radiator and tarped over the cab.
Finally he was satisfied that all would survive the winter. He took one
last look at the setting sun and then descended through the heavy hatch
-under the edge of the tarp- down into his refuge. He latched it from
the inside. He was alone and alive with a curious feeling of freedom.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

John spent most of his time laying corrugated iron on the framework and
welding it in place. He prepared meals at his leisure, but seldom took
more than an hour or so away from the work of building the silo to his
satisfaction. One of the tasks he placed priority on, was building a
workshop on the second level down. Once the floor was in place he moved
the woodworking tools he had purchased onto the level. Once the shop
was set up, the job of cutting and fitting fixtures for the other
levels was streamlined greatly.

Four bales of hay purchased from a farm on the main road leading by the
silo road provided him with a rudimentary firing range. Once a day he'd
practice his shooting. Wearing an old set of headphones because he'd
forgotten to purchase hearing protection. He got pretty good with the
old Python. He'd practice swinging to the side and hitting a bulls eye,
just for fun.

He didn't ever expect to have to use the gun. He just did it to give
him a break from the monotony of work. It became a daily exercise.
After a solid month of this he could hit the bulls eye seven out of ten
shots. He gave it up when a slug passed through a bale and ricocheted.
It zinged past his head on one side, ricocheted off the curved wall and
zinged past his head on the other. He shuddered to think what would
have happened if he'd been shooting the higher velocity .357's, instead
of the 38's.

"That's about enough of that shit," he told himself. He re-applied
himself to the problems of the silo. He solved the problem of lowering
heavy objects to lower levels through the use of trap doors on each
level. It was weeks before John cracked the hatch again. One day he got
a hankering for a drink of scotch, but discovered that he was out. It
seemed like as good an excuse as any to go to town.

John cracked the hatch and emerged from his refuge to find a light
skiff of snow coating the world. He squinted at the bright sun
reflected off the white landscape and shivered a bit from the cold. A
quick trip back inside brought him out again wearing a parka and
sunglasses. He had to jockey the snowmobile trailer around and unhitch
it to free the car, but he should have done that in the first place.
Finally he was fishtailing down the road into town. It occurred to him
that he needed a better winter driving vehicle, but his dollar supply
was getting low. He was down to a paltry $38,000, and the next year's
allotment wouldn't come in for months. The absurdity of the thought
struck him like a rock. $38,000 was more than he had earned the entire
year before.

When he got to town he bought a whole case of *good* scotch, and
searched around for a good -used- four wheel drive. He located a fairly
nice mid-seventies Toyota Land Cruiser that had a Chevy 350 CID V-8
engine shoe horned into it. He test drove it, but didn't like the gear
ratio. He bought it anyway and arranged for a shop in town to install a
Chevy 5-speed tranny to match the engine. He lined up several other
modifications with several shops and negotiated with each to deliver it
to the next one. When he came back into town he would have a deluxe
four wheel drive waiting for him.

It was evening by the time he was through in town. He sought out a good
steak dinner and then headed home with his case of scotch and a few
bags of groceries. John's mind was on his new vehicle as he headed out
of town. He was almost to the turn marked only by the lonely single set
of tracks leading to the silo, when it happened.

Entirely without warning, there was suddenly somebody waving their arms
in front of the car. John slammed on the brakes. The anti-lock kicked
in, but even that wasn't enough. He was still traveling faster than a
walk when he thumped the body off his fender onto the side of the road.
John just sat there for a moment and shook. Had he killed the
hitchhiker? There was only one way he could find out. He forced himself
out of the car and walked over to the ditch, fearing the worst.

To his surprise he found it was a girl. The tight jeans told him that
much. She was lying face down in the snow, unmoving. He gently rolled
her over and found a pretty young face, about 15, eyes closed and
unresponsive. A scuff on her forehead from the rock her head had hit.
His heart sank. A quick check of her pulse sent a wave of relief over
him. She was probably okay, but might have a concussion from the way
she had landed. He checked all her limbs and found no broken bones. Her
hip would probably be bruised real good from where the car had bumped
her.

Why the hell had she done it? He would have stopped for *anybody* this
far out.... What the hell was she doing out here in the middle of
nowhere? All these questions would have to wait. She may have needed
attention right then. If she was worse than he was equipped for at the
silo, the drive back into town would be too far anyway. Getting her
warm was probably the best way to stabilize her until *real* help could
arrive if needed. His silo was the best answer, if for no other reason
than to get her out of the elements and get to communications. He
mentally vowed to get himself a Cellular phone, even if he never needed
it again.

He carefully picked her up and carried her to the car. He noticed that
her clothing and body stank like she had been *on the road* for a long
time. He didn't care. He wasn't about to leave her out in the cold to
die. John pushed it to the limit all that way back to the silo. He hit
the brakes as he triggered the gate closer remote. He climbed out and
opened up the hatch. He did his best to carry her inside. From the way
the entrance was configured, he ended up using a fireman's carry to get
her inside. His hand on her legs to balance her.

Once inside the elevator, he set her down. A quick check of her pulse
and a once over in the light told him that she was in no *immediate*
danger. He left her propped in the corner of the elevator, then went
back out and retrieved his scotch and grocery's and put away the car.
He sealed the hatch and then sent the elevator on its decent to the
apartment. On the way down he studied her.

Under a dirty face she seemed to have the vestige of a black eye. It
seemed more like a fresh wound rather than an older one. This girl had
had a hard time of it. The elevator arrived at the apartment level. He
picked her up again and was going to put her on the bed when his nose
reminded him how much she stank. Instead he carried her to the bathroom
and set her down on the toilet. She was wearing tennis shoes, tight,
worn jeans, an oversized T-shirt and a light jacket. John wished the
hell she were awake to wash herself, but he wasn't about to put her in
his bed while she smelled that bad.

Feeling guilty, he began stripping off her clothes. Bruises on her arms
looked like they probably came from a strong grip holding her. He had a
hell of a time removing her tight jeans. When she was dressed in only
her sports bra and panties, he drug a resin patio chair into the shower
and set her in it. Her skin was cold from exposure. Just to be on the
safe side he went and dug into his medical kit for a blood pressure
cuff. She was okay, but shivered slightly. He adjusted the water to a
comfortable temperature and then a bit warm. She needed to get warm
fast. He stripped down to his shorts and turned the stream on her. She
didn't respond consciously to the water, but seemed to stop shivering a
bit.

John began to soap up her body. She seemed to be quite dirty, probably
hadn't bathed for days. He shampooed her hair and finally decided that
what she really needed was the hot tub. To keep soap out of the hot
tub, he stripped off his shorts, then her bra and panties. She had
medium-large breasts for her age, but they had bruises on them too. He
felt a pang of guilt as he stripped off her panties and saw the small,
blonde tuft of pubic hair. His growing member reminded him of how long
it had been since he had seen female flesh exposed, let alone flesh as
young and firm as this. His erection grew as he felt her tender body
against him while he carried her to the tub. The hot tub had several
seats built into it, which solved the problem of what to do with her.
He propped her up in one, and then sat back himself to soak.

He couldn't help himself as his eyes returned to her nude young body
again and again. He half expected her to wake up screaming, but she
showed no signs of movement. His erection screamed at him to take
advantage of the situation, but he didn't. He just watched her as he
let her soak a good twenty minutes. When her face showed a flush from
the heat, he finally lifted her out. He set her in the resin chair as
he carefully toweled her and then himself dry. His erection was as hard
as he ever remembered it as he carried her to the bed. He pulled back
the blankets and set her in it. Then he sat for a while examining her
nude body.

She appeared to be about fifteen, but could have been anywhere between
thirteen and seventeen. Her hair was blonde, cut short. She had blue
eyes, which were responsive to light, but with slightly uneven pupils.
Her breasts were probably a firm C-cup. Her waist narrow and her hips
just starting to reach their full spread. Her small tuft of pubic hair
was soft and blonde as well. Her legs were long and sleek. She was
lovely, *too* damn lovely.

John dug out an oversized T-shirt and pulled it over her, then pulled a
pair of his jockey shorts onto her. They were *way* too large, but the
elastic would keep them up. At least she was covered. John put her
under the covers and softly kissed her forehead. A little seepage of
blood from her forehead prompted him to the first aid kit for some
antibiotic ointment and a gauze patch. Once she was doctored he went in
search of his scotch. He sat back in a terry cloth robe with a Scotch
on the rocks and looked at her for a long time.

Why the hell had she been out there? Why had she jumped in front of the
car? Where did her black eye and bruises come from? They would probably
explain why she was out there. Some asshole had hurt this tender child.
What she needed now was help. John decided he would do his best. He
finished his Scotch and pulled on a pair of Jockey shorts himself
before he climbed into bed beside her. He usually slept in the nude,
but she might come to in the night and freak out. He was painfully
aware of her tender body in the bed next to him. His erection didn't
subside at all before he slipped into sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4

John awoke with an arm draped over him and a young body against him.
This was a *good* sign, if a bit uncomfortable for him. She appeared to
be just asleep, but didn't wake as John extracted himself from the bed
and headed into the bathroom. His hard-on seemed like it hadn't
diminished a bit during the night. Emptying his bladder in a ski
jumper's pose helped some. John put on his robe and a pair of slippers,
then went off to the kitchen to make some coffee. He decided on
breakfast and on a hunch, made double.

About the time John was finishing up the last batch of French toast, a
soft female voice tentatively called out, "Hello? Is anybody here?
Where Am I?" John loaded up a tray with coffee and food and headed into
the bedroom. The girl was sitting up surveying her outfit when he
walked in. She seemed to shrink into the bed when she saw John.

"Hello, my name is John. You're in my uh.. *house*. You jumped in front
of my car last night and bumped your head. Are you feeling up to
breakfast?" John talked as he crossed the room. The girl seemed a
little relieved, but not much.

"Who undressed me?" she asked.

"I did. You stunk!" John replied simply.

"Well, I guess I probably did. Haven't had a chance to shower for a
long time." She was studying John hard as she fingered the T-shirt and
felt under the covers at the Jockey shorts she wore.

"Don't worry, I washed you, but that's all. Your virtue is intact,"
John said.

"Not unless you operated too," she kind of chuckled. "What have you got
to eat?"

"Whatever you want, but I've made French toast, bacon and scrambled
eggs. First off, how are you feeling?"

"Okay I guess, kind of dizzy really, but starving!" she said.

"You got a bad bump on the head. Let me look at your eyes."

"What for?" said the girl, pulling the covers up and shrinking back.

"To check how bad your concussion is. I don't want you choking on a
piece of French toast and convulsing in my bed."

"Okay... I guess." John picked up a small pen light from the dresser
and bent over her as he checked each of her eyes. A small difference in
pupils, but not too bad. He smiled at her and nodded to the food. She
jumped at the bacon and wrapped it in a piece of French toast. It was
in her mouth before John could blink.

"Take your time, lots of food here and take it easy. You're well enough
to eat, not to do gymnastics." John chuckled. The girl eyed John
suspiciously and forced herself to chew a little slower. She noticed
that the T-shirt had become twisted around her, clinging to her
breasts. She pulled on it to hide her form. John noticed her discomfort
and dug into the closet for another robe. He handed it to her and she
pulled it around her shoulders and kept on eating.

"Coffee?"

"Yuk! Got any milk?"

"Sorry, long way to the store. Soda pop or Water?"

"Pepsi if you got it...Just how far to the store? Where are we?"

"In the middle of nowhere, about thirty miles from where you jumped in
front of me," John said as he headed into the kitchen for her soda.

"Where was that?" the girl called after him.

"You don't know where you were?" asked John, returning with her Pepsi.

"Not really. Some jerk kicked me out 'cause I wouldn't suck him," said
the girl. She took her Pepsi and drank a swig to wash down the three
pieces of French toast and five pieces of bacon she had wolfed down.
She eyed John for a minute then said, "So what do you have in mind for
me?"

"Nothing, actually. You jumped in front of my car last night, I tried
to stop, but you didn't give me enough time to avoid you. You bounced
off my fender and into the ditch. You bumped your head on a rock and
knocked yourself out. I picked you up, brought you here, bathed you,
doctored you and put you to bed. I have no plans for you. You're
welcome to stay until you feel better and can leave anytime you want.
I'll give you a ride back to the nearest town, which is about eighty
miles away. Besides that I don't even know your name yet."

"Theresa. Eighty miles? You live eighty miles from town?"

"Yes, glad to meet you, Theresa."

"Glad to meet you, I think. Why do you live so far out?"

"Because I like to."

"Who else lives here?"

"Nobody, just me." Theresa chewed on another bacon French toast roll up
(she shoveled some egg into this one.) as she studied John from the
corner of her eye.

"You say I can stay a while, what's it gonna cost me? I don't have any
money."

"Nothing. Stay as long as you want. I don't need money."

"What do you need?" she asked suspiciously.

"Not a thing in the world. You can stop worrying. You're *far* too
young for me. How old are you anyway?"

"Uh.. Seventeen."

"How old?"

"Sixteen....Okay.... Fifteen, but I'll be Sixteen next month..... What
do you mean I'm too young for you? How old are *you*?"

"Probably old enough to be your mother's father. I'm forty-three."

"Forty-three? I guess that's not too old.... Say, how come you got no
windows in here?"

"Cause you're about one hundred and sixty feet below the surface."
Theresa stopped chewing and looked around kind of scared like.

She swallowed hard and asked, "What *is* this place?"

"I told you, my home! It just happens to be underground."

"Why?"

"Cause I like it that way. I don't pay a dime in heating bills. The
whole place is solar heated. I got the whole place plus fifty acres of
land for less than the price of a half acre plot in the city."

"Whole place, these three rooms?"

"No, this is just the temporary living quarters I first set up while
I'm working on the rest."

"So how big is it?"

"One hundred seventy feet deep by forty-five feet in diameter. I've
divided that into fifteen stories."

"Fifteen stories, forty-five feet in diameter, that's damn big! What
was it, and old mine?"

"No, it was a missile silo."

"A missile silo, like Atomic?"

"Yup. Like Atomic. But don't worry, they took that part out before they
sold it."

"Huh... kind of neat. But why?"

"I told you. I like it."

"All alone, by yourself? What are you some kind of hermit?"

"I hadn't thought about it much, but I guess I am. I don't care much
for the cities."

"But how do you live? What do you do?"

"Just work on my home."

"No, I mean for a living. Don't you have to work?"

"Nope."

"Why not, you rich?"

"Yup, guess I am."

"Really? How much you got?"

"More than enough. I won the lottery."

"Really?"

"Yup, really. Fourteen million dollars." Theresa stopped chewing. Her
mouth hung open, food and all. "Close your mouth. It looks awful." She
snapped her mouth shut and swallowed hard.

Then jumped up on the bed and said, "You've got fourteen million
dollars?" The robe fell off her shoulders. The Jockey shorts almost
fell off as she bounced.

"Yup, not all at once, but enough to get by on. Now, come on. Let's
find you some clothes before you fall out of those." Theresa snatched
at the sagging Jockey shorts and pulled them up. This just outlined her
attributes better and made John *very* uncomfortable. He started
digging in drawers and closets. Theresa watched him wondering what he
was doing. He came up with a pair of stretch warm up pants that had a
string closure. He handed them to her and turned away. She giggled but
pulled them on. By rolling up the legs, they fit her okay. John found
another pair for himself and pulled them on. Theresa watched him
without looking away. John looked at her in annoyance.

"I figure that *you* got to see a whole lot more of me," she chuckled.

"I guess that's true, but that was different. You didn't have much
choice about it, but I assure you I was strictly business about it."

"So you said.. You still got to see the whole thing. It's only fair
that you show me too." John was suspicious of her motives. Her sudden
interest in him had arisen *after* he disclosed his financial position.

Even so he said, "I guess by rights you're welcome to see anything you
want. I got nothing to hide... at least not much."

"Show me then!" she said defiantly, daring John to reveal himself. It
seemed wrong, but John shrugged and dropped the warm ups. He pulled off
his robe and pushed down his Jockey shorts. His penis was at half mast.
He stood naked before her. She looked without shame.

"Not bad for an *old coot*," She chuckled.

"And you don't look bad for a *little girl*. Now can I get dressed?"

"If you want. I don't care," but her eyes still surveyed his body. The
months of hard work and irregular meals had left John trimmer and
firmer than he thought of himself.

"I do. I'm kind of chilly."

"I could warm you up."

"No doubt, but you were terrified at the thought before you found out I
was rich," John said as he pulled up his shorts and warm-ups. He dug
out an old favorite sweatshirt to match.

"That's not true... I liked you before that. I just didn't know you."

"You still don't," John said, digging out some socks and tennis shoes.

"Oh... you're okay," Theresa said.

"You know the difference between a weirdo and an eccentric?" John
asked.

"No, what?"

"About a million dollars...or fourteen million in my case," replied
John. John carted the food tray back into the kitchen. He sat down and
finished off what remained of the meal (one strip of bacon, some eggs
and half slice French toast with Coffee.) He told Theresa where her
clothes were and where the washing machine was. She went off to do a
batch and find her shoes. She came back a while later, barefoot. She
seemed kind of distracted, like she was deep in thought. John pointed
to her feet and raised an eyebrow.

"Decided my shoes stunk too much. They're in the washer too."

"No argument from me. See if you can fit any of my shoes."

"I don't need any, really. My feet aren't cold."

"Not the cold, I was gonna show you around if you feel up to it."

"Okay... maybe a little." Theresa dug into the closet and came up with
a pair of tennis shoes she could lace up *real* tight to keep them from
falling off. They got about a third of the way into the tour when John
noticed Theresa leaning shakily against a beam, with a large fall
beneath her. He gently guided her back to bed. "Not coming in?" Theresa
asked, groggily.

"Nope. Got work to do."

"Suit yourself," Theresa said sleepily.

"I do," John said on his way out. In fact John did very little work at
first. He was upset with himself by how tempted he was to accept the
offers of the little darling in his bed. The memory of her nude body
from the night before was driving him crazy. Eventually the task at
hand distracted him long enough to forget her. Soon afterwards he was
virtually absorbed in his work.

About two in the afternoon he got hungry. He made himself a sandwich
and a cup of coffee. A check on Theresa found her sleeping soundly.
John sipped at his coffee as he surveyed her form in the bed. She was
breathing regular. She rolled over and emitted a soft whimpering cry in
her sleep. At the same time her body sort of flinched back.

"What happened to you, girl?" John asked himself, softly. He finished
his coffee in a gulp and went back to work. About seven o-clock that
evening, he smelled food cooking. He finished up what he was doing,
then washed up. Theresa was in the kitchen. To John's discomfort, she
wore her sports bra as a halter top. Thankfully, the baggy warm-ups
still covered her lower body.

"How was the nap, what's cookin?" John inquired, averting his eyes.

"Pretty good. Don't know why I'm so tired. I just woke up hungry. I
heard you banging around out there so I started digging. Sit down and
rest, It's almost done."

"You're tired because of your concussion. It's the body's natural
reaction to getting thumped around."

"I got thumped around lots before, it never made me feel like
sleeping."

"Want to talk about it... The black eye and bruises?"

"What's to talk about? My stepfather alternated between beating and
pumping me."

"That why you were out on the road? You ran away?"

"Pretty much."

"How long has that been going on?"

"Since I got my tits, when I was twelve."

"He's been abusing you since you were twelve? Why didn't you call the
cops?"

"Thirteen actually. He forced me to suck him before that.... Cops
didn't seem like a good idea. My mother loved the guy.... I guess more
than me. She sort of helped him."

"Ouch!.... So where are you headed? Do you have friends somewhere?"

Theresa was quiet for a while before answering, "I don't know where I'm
going. I just, had to get out... "

"I can understand that."

"Can you?" Theresa asked sharply.

"Maybe not," John replied softly.

"Sorry, you didn't deserve that," Theresa said.

"No problem. I didn't take it personal."

"Good..... You're about the only friend I've got right now."

"No others?" John asked.

"Oh, I guess my friend Cindy, but she's in a situation as bad as I was,
maybe worse."

"So what's eats?" John asked to change the subject.

"Parmesan Chicken with Broccoli, I couldn't find any *fresh*
vegetables."

"You can cook! Sorry but it's a bit far to the market."

"Yes, I'm a good cook. My mother wasn't much good at it so I had to
learn."

"Seems your mother wasn't good at much."

"Oh, at some things...." Theresa trailed off. She busied herself
setting the table. "What to drink?" she asked.

"Well, I don't suppose it would hurt you to have a little wine. You're
pretty much grown up already."

"That would be nice. I saw a bottle in the fridge."

John chuckled, "No, for this meal I'll pull out a special one. I use
the one in the fridge for cooking. It's not a very good one."

"I wouldn't know the difference."

"I do. Learned that before I ever got rich." John went in search of a
bottle from the unheated area where he kept it. He returned with a
light Chablis. Theresa watched in fascination as he uncorked it. He
examined the cork, but didn't sniff it. He poured barely a mouthful in
two wine glasses. He swirled his glass around and then lifted it to his
nose. He sniffed it and smiled, then sipped a bit. He sloshed it around
in his mouth and finally swallowed. He smiled once more and nodded to
Theresa.

She did her best to follow his example. When her own smile spread, John
poured a larger amount into both of their glasses. The meal proceeded
nicely. Theresa had a tendency to gulp her wine, but that would change
with time. John found himself thinking he would like her to stay
around. Theresa was thinking along the same lines. Neither said
anything about it at the time. The food was excellent. Theresa was a
*good* cook. After dinner John bussed the dishes, loaded the dishwasher
and started it. Theresa found containers and stored a few leftovers.
She was a little bit tipsy. John was too.

"So what's to do around here for entertainment?" Theresa asked,
slurring a bit.

"TV in the communications room up by the first floor. Haven't found a
path to string all the lines down here for the satellite control yet."

"You've got *satellite* TV?"

"Yup," chuckled John, "and high speed Internet access too."

"I heard something about that, but I don't know what it is."

"Come on, I'll show you."

"Any wine left?"

"Another bottle of the same... I guess that it would be alright." John
snatched the other bottle and opened it. Then they rode the elevator up
to the communications room. John had put a large comfortable sofa in it
where he could lay and watch TV. Instead of cranking up the TV, he
fired up the computer. He showed Theresa how to get access to anything
she wanted.

"But I don't know what's out there, so I don't know where I want to
go," Theresa said.

"Oh, there is that. Most the time it's just fun to pick a subject and
do a search on it. Like this.... Pick a subject."

"Sex!"

"Too big, you need to be more specific."

"Uh... I'll have to think about it. How about Sex and Wine."

"That should narrow it down a bunch. Let's see..... 287 hits, narrow it
some more."

"Sex, wine and older men," Theresa said, her hand on John's collar.

"Behave yourself.... That brought 23 responses."

"Let's see." John clicked on each and every entry. They read a history
of Wine making and the use of sex in advertisement. There were graphic
postings in the news groups about erotic encounters between older men
and younger women under the influence of wine. There was a site that
was devoted to the evils of wine and sex. They stumbled over a support
group for victims of incest. John set a marker on that and showed
Theresa how to recall it. She changed the subject by jumping to a
different location. They bounced all over the world, chasing any
tangent. Theresa was having a ball.

"Doesn't this cost you a bunch?" she asked.

"Not really. You can get slower service for as little as $15 a month."

"Really?"

"Yeah, There just happened to be a high speed line already run to here
when I bought the place. Otherwise it would have cost me a fortune to
get the same service."

"Neat... Show me how to work the satellite."

"Okay... What do you want to watch?"

"Let's find a nice sappy movie." John fired up the satellite and poked
around a bunch of channels he knew of. He stumbled on a romantic comedy
he had seen before. Theresa stopped him there. They both sat on the
sofa. Theresa leaned back against John like he was her boyfriend. He
didn't *seem* to notice, but he was *very* aware of her young body
leaning against his.

They downed the rest of the wine over the course of the movie. John
became more reclined and Theresa more snugly as time passed. Finally
they were both laying flat out, side by side on the sofa. Theresa's
head tucked into John's arm. They both couldn't help but be aware of
the bulge in John's pants. The movie ended with the couples heading off
to bed. John started to get up to do the same. Theresa pushed him back
down.

"Talk to me," Theresa said.

"What about?"

"Well... *Us*."

"Us?"

"Yeah... Look, I know you don't really like me."

"What on earth gave you that idea?" John interrupted.

"'Cause I've virtually thrown myself at you since I woke up here. I can
tell by your pants you're not dead, so you must not like me!"

"I can assure you, that's not the case. You're just 15 years old."

"But I'm really good in bed."

"You may well be, but I'm almost three times your age."

"Shut up and let me talk."

"Okay."

"Like I said; I think I'm really good in bed and... you said yourself
at dinner that I was pretty much grown up. .... Well what I'm trying to
say is that I'd like to stay around here for a while, but I don't have
any money to pay you with. So how about I *do* you whenever you want,
and you let me stay here awhile." Theresa finished her speech bravely,
but dropped her eyes at the end.

"Can I talk now?"

"Yes.......," she said meekly.

"Okay, Item One. I think you're gorgeous, just too young. Two. You're
welcome to stay as long as you'd like. I don't need any money."

"But I don't want to owe you."

"Shut up, you said I could talk. You wouldn't owe me. And you don't
have to *do me* as you say. You're welcome to stay with no strings
attached."

"Really?"

"Really!"

"I knew you didn't like me.... Okay, I'll leave tomorrow," Theresa
said, starting to sob.

"What the hell are you talking about? If I didn't like you, would I
have asked you to stay?"

"You won't sleep with me!"

"You're *fifteen!*"

"And you're forty-three. So what? In ten years you'll be fifty-three
and I'll be twenty-five, nobody would bat an eye over us."

"That's in ten years! I'm talking about now."

"Look, what's worse; me freely giving myself to you, or my stepfather
taking me at his leisure and beating me for it?"

"Uh... "

"See."

"I'll tell you what. You want to stay, I want you to stay. You don't
want to owe me, I need a cook. You can cook. You're hired. As of this
evening's meal."

"Okay... but I still want to sleep with you."

"You don't have much choice, I've only got one bed."

"You know what I mean!"

"Yes I do, No! Do you want the job or not?" Theresa looked at him a
moment and nodded. "Good. Welcome aboard. I can afford to pay you...
let's see, a private cook in a remote location. How about twenty-five
thousand a year for starters?"

"Twenty five thousand? That's too much."

"That's what the job pays, take it or move on."

"Well since you put it that way. I'll take it."

"Good, let's go to bed."

"You mean you've changed your mind?"

"No, I'm tired."

"Damn!" They stumbled to the elevator in each others arms. When they
reached the bedroom, Theresa unceremoniously stripped nude and hopped
in bed. John sighed. Finally he shrugged and did the same. Theresa
snuggled to his side. John felt himself growing again but tried to
ignore it. The wine helped him slip away before he had to deal with it.
He woke once during the night. Theresa was shivering and whimpering in
her sleep. John pulled her gently to him and held her till she was
breathing easier. Then fell asleep that way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5

John awoke horny as hell in an empty bed. The light was on in the
kitchen. He could hear Theresa humming to herself. John made a quick
trip to the bathroom and relieved himself. Then jumped back into bed.
Theresa rounded the corner with his breakfast.

"Breakfast in bed? I hired a cook, not a slave. I'll come to the
table."

"No you won't. This is just to pay you back, for bringing it to me
yesterday." Theresa was wearing her skimpy bikini panties, her sports
bra and her tennis shoes. She had a small apron on in front that hardly
hid much.

"Nice outfit."

"Nobody here but us chickens. You did a good job with the heating. This
feels comfortable. Even got my shoes on so we can finish the tour after
breakfast... If you *want* to, that is."

"Fine with me. If you want to run around half naked, who am I to
complain?"

"No, I'd like to run around *all* naked. But if you're not going to
take advantage of it, what's the use?"

"Suit yourself."

"*I do!* Now eat before it gets cold." John knew when he was beaten. He
dove into his breakfast. Afterwards he gave her the grand tour, taking
special care to take her topside in the skimpy outfit. It was in the
low 40's outside. John took his time showing her each of the unheated
outbuildings and the solar array. Her nipples looked like small marbles
under her sports bra when they finally went inside, but she never
uttered a peep of complaint.

John explained his plans as he went along; A *complete* workshop where
you could make *anything*. A deluxe communications center. Food storage
area, farming equipment storage. Huge Bedrooms, semi-huge bedrooms.
Library, game room. Railed Shafts would bring sunlight down to any room
from a tracking mirror on the surface. Theresa went nuts over the pool.
She peeled off her shoes and jumped in. She shrieked from the
temperature. John kept it cool to keep the algae down until he finished
the filter system.

John fought himself every night for the next three days. Theresa turned
out to be a pretty good cook. Otherwise he tried to stay away from her.
She slept a lot, which made this easier to do. When not asleep or
cooking Theresa amused herself at the computer or watched the
television. It took Theresa just those three days to get her wish. That
night they lay snuggled together. They were both nude. John over half
drifted into sleep. Theresa was fully aware of his male body snuggled
to her.

Theresa wiggled her behind a bit against his manhood and John began to
grow. She continued her motions until he was fully erect. She gently
pushed him onto his back and moved over him. She guided his now larger
member into herself. She was a full dozen strokes into it, when John
finally awoke to find himself erect and Theresa riding his hips. Her
warmth around his member and firm young body were too much for him to
resist. He pulled her down into a deep kiss. She really wasn't too bad
for her age.

After that John didn't fight it. He didn't play the puppy love games
during the day, but he also didn't resist her during the night. After
the first time, he did insist that they use prophylactics until he
could get to town and have his tubes snicked. This would have to be
soon, as he only had a couple of dozen. Purchased just after he'd won
the lottery. Actually they were going to have to head to town earlier
to fulfill her feminine product needs. About the time Theresa started
getting bloaty and ornery, John realized the trip was mandatory.
Luckily it was between storms so they could get the sports car down the
road.

"If anybody gets curious, call me daddy," John said.

"Oh please don't spank me, daddy! Can't you hurt me that other way
instead?" Theresa snickered.

"Behave yourself, or I'll leave you in town!" John said.

"Yes, Sir!" Theresa snapped to attention.

"Oh god, just don't get me hanged..... and please don't mention
anything to anybody about the silo. I *like* not being known."

"Okay, you got it." Theresa fell asleep before they made it off the
dirt road. The mud was getting thick enough that John planned on
picking up the Landcruiser. He woke Theresa when he got into town. They
made a stop at the store for her needs first, then stopped in a
restaurant for lunch. Theresa headed for the bathroom and John for the
phone booth just after they ordered. John made an appointment for later
in the day with a local doctor, and checked on the Landcruiser. It was
ready. They ate a leisurely lunch and then went to pick up the
'Cruiser. She was a beauty! Even Theresa thought so.

She had her fun moment when she jumped up and down and shouted, "Oh
thank you, Daddy!" threw her arms around John and kissed him hard on
the lips. The guys in the shop raised their eyebrows. John smacked her
butt with an audible slap. She yelped and behaved from then on out.
Next stop was to pick up the license tags. The shops had done all they
could in this direction, but they couldn't sign the papers for John. He
wasted a full hour in the DMV. It was time for John's appointment when
he got out. Theresa couldn't drive yet so she had to wait while the
procedure was being done. He was in the office a long time.

The doctor told John, "The more you use it, the quicker it will feel
better."

"Don't think that will be a problem," said John paying the bill. As
John walked *slowly* out, the doctor looked past him to the girl in the
passenger seat of the Landcruiser.

He muttered to himself, "I'll bet. Damn good thing he got them cut."
Next stop was to the Mall for a shopping spree for Theresa. John
walking slowly along as Theresa flitted back and forth between the
stores. He had given her an advance on her wages, mostly cause she
hadn't been there very long and an advance was the only condition
Theresa would accept it under. Even so they somehow ended up with
several -of each- of the things that Theresa liked. She didn't seem to
notice. They couldn't think of any way to pull off a joint trip into
Victoria's Secret, so she wrote down her sizes and they walked in
separately. She selected a few things. He selected a lot. The sales
lady eyed him with dissatisfaction. He ignored her. It was none of her
damned business what he bought with his money. Whether she approved or
not. He hung to the side counting his change while Theresa made her
purchases.

Then he said to her, "How'd you like to come over to my place and try
some of these on for me?"

Theresa smiled at him and said, "I think I'd like that!" as she picked
up her package from the speechless saleswoman. They walked out arm in
arm. Busting out laughing as soon as they rounded the corner. John
directed her into a top quality dress shop and bought her one that she
looked nothing less than dynamite in. Next he took her by a well known
chain store and stocked up on shorts, jeans and basic wardrobe items
that every girl her age needed in quantity. Their purchases amounted to
well over a thousand dollars. They carted them out to the 'Cruiser and
headed for the grocery store.

They bought every canned, frozen and fresh vegetable known to man. Plus
a great deal of beef, chicken, turkey, pork and lamb. Next came massive
quantities of every type pasta, rice, beans and grains and finally
basic stocks of flour and other baking goods. Just for the hell of it
John purchased one each of every type spice. Theresa took a basket and
raided the soup section. The cruiser was loaded to the roof by the time
they finished. Just for safety, John bought an entire case of the
tampons Theresa had purchased earlier, and four dozen rubbers he
intended to use until he was certain he was shooting blanks.

Lastly John rented a car tow trailer. The kind the front wheels ride
in. Then it was back to the shop to pick up the sports car. It was
almost dark, they got a to-go meal as they had to get the frozen foods
into the freezer. They headed out of town with a *full load* test of
the new engine modifications. John was very pleased with the new gear
ratio.

Theresa fell asleep once again on the way out of town. She woke up in
time for the last five miles of dirt road. The old four wheel drive
never faltered, even towing the sports car. John had locked in the hubs
when they hit the dirt road. Theresa unloaded while John stowed and
winterized the Sports car. He tarped it over and moved the Landcruiser
into the garage. He added a dip-stick heater and then joined Theresa
inside. She was all over him the second the door opened on the
apartment.

"What the Hell?" gasped John.

"The doctor told you the more you used it, the better!"

"Later, we've got things to put away."

"Done."

"Okay, all that stuff to pack into the freezer."

"Done."

"But what about your period?"

"Light flow. We'll do it in the shower if we need to!"

"We've got to..."

"Done! No excuses. I want you bad! Strip off now!" Theresa commanded.

"Oh shit..." John muttered as he resigned himself to the situation.
Theresa hardly let him out of the bed for the next week.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Continued in chapters 6-10.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with
all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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