Prologue

Marines fight, teachers teach and racers race. Or at least we did!

Once the Middle East was taken out, things in the oil business got crazy. Here in the United States we were not in bad shape. We had oil off both coasts, large coal and natural gas reserves. We also had the ability to make alcohol and bio-diesel fuels as well as the replicators.

The problem with the oil reserves is that they had never been tapped. It would take at least six months to drill wells and get pipelines in place. We did not have six months. We needed fuel now!

Within twenty four hours of the attack on Mecca, the President announced petroleum rationing. The farmers were asked to put land into cultivation using bio diesel. Recreational travel was banned and most civilian vehicles were ordered parked for the duration.

The presidents of all of the major sports leagues were called into a conference call with Washington. No games until further notice and this included ASCAR, the American Stock Car Racing Association.

Slowly the taps opened. Some vehicles converted to LNG, others to bio-diesel and still others to a 10/90 gasoline/alcohol mixture. Some coal was liquified and the hybrid cars found renewed popularity. In 90 days, restrictions on travel began to ease and the country came back to life.

Of all the major sports, ASCAR faced the toughest challenge in the new era. Racing was seen as a blatant misuse of fuel reserves. The large tracks were seen as an invitation to the Earth First crowd and most of the infields were now planted in corn and soybeans. The three touring divisions would now be racing on tracks of a mile or less and alternative fuel cars would be running at lighter weights. In a valiant effort to save his sport, the President of ASCAR issued a statement that terminated all sanctioning agreements of the vast short track empire. They were on their own.

Chapter One

It was a beautiful early spring day in Connecticut. Decurion Hansen and I were sitting in our vehicle that had been labeled as a pace car from a northern short track. We had parked in the infield and had enjoyed an afternoon of practice sessions and heat races. Earlier we had toured the pit area and I had a chance to introduce Sam to some of my old friends and showed him some of the cars. Sadly he was not impressed. I guess that once you have dealt with Confederacy technology, short track stock cars are pretty lame.

Despite all the problems, racers wanted to race and fans to watch. In the pit area there were one hundred and fifty cars from one of the regional tours and the track's divisions. The grandstands, which could seat about five thousand, were half full

In the middle of the pit area, Jim Donaldson was checking tire pressures and making last minute checks on his late model. He was a veteran crew chief and had seen it all. The days of junkyard parts were coming back as the aftermarket companies had gone broke or switched to defense business. There were no kids to put behind the wheel. Any one with good CAP scores was being extracted. The Confederacy needed fighter pilots and the 14 year old kart racers were a prime target. Still, this was the start of the season and his juices were flowing. He had a veteran crew and his driver was the season champion from the last full season. The engine was a 3.8 liter V6 that he had carefully massaged. The chassis was one of the last Morehouse kits. He had saved several sets of tires from last season. They were ready.

Marie Anderson and her crew were having a busy day. Her concession stand was right behind the pit area grandstand. Even though it was only a part time job, there had been no work for a year and the cash would be welcome. She loved the racers. She had started working at the track ten years ago. She knew all of the regulars and they were a second family.

In the track office at the front of the facility, Dave Perkins was relaxing. The weather had been perfect and the race had made a profit. Monday he could go to the town hall and pay the property taxes. When racing had been stopped he had turned the golf course back into farmland. There was no real interest in the golf any longer so he had decided to plow the course under to plant sweet corn. The track was sacred ground. The first race had been held before World War II. It was one of the first tracks in the area and now one of the last. Once he was sure that everything was under control, he headed towards the track. After all these years, he still loved the sport and all of those who worked for him or raced at his track.

Pete Richardson was in the press box, high above turn three. His dad had started a weekly racing paper after World War II. The hard copy of the paper was barely breaking even, but the website kept things going when there was racing. His wife was working in the pits. She had interviewed several drivers and crew members. The money from freelancing would pay the rent on their apartment in Providence.

Mitch Alvarez was working the infield with his digital camera. He and his wife Maria had seen a lot. The move from film to digital cameras had been tough. They were now shooting stills and videos for several websites. They had met with prejudice at first, but their hard work had made them many friends.

In orbit above the track were three large ships. By the end of the day they would be full.

"Okay Kucharski, since this is another one of your bright ideas, tell me why I am here? Don't remind me about the brats either."

Earlier in the day, I had introduced him to one of my favorite track foods, fried bratwurst sausages smothered in onions.

" We have had a request for fighter pilots and technical support from the Hudson colony. Dighton also needs more colonists. We found that racers have superior hand eye coordination. The top ranked drivers are second only to actual pilots. The team members have technical skills and the ability to make do with limited resources. Currently there are five hundred volunteer class people in the pit area with cars. There are thirty five track workers at 6.5 or higher and another five hundred fans who can volunteer."

"You are giving me a headache, Kucharski. What am I going to do with all those people. Looks to me that we are going to be short concubines? What kind of numbers do we have here?"

"Sir, we are short by about one thousand concubines. But I have a plan sir. At this very moment, Lt Sanchez and Sargent Morrison are preparing an extraction at the Mount Marion College."

Chapter 2

Two hours to the north of the speedway, two female Marines were sitting at a picnic table with a bottle of wine and some local cheese. It was the campus of a women's college and they were waiting for a concert to begin. Mount Marion had never gone co-ed. There were several other schools in the area that were. They ranged from a state university to several private liberal arts schools. One of the small schools had closed for lack of students and the other was under pressure. Strong financial backing had kept the pressure off the woman's school but that would soon end.

Sergeant Amie Morrison knew that this was a crazy idea to begin with, but then you had to know where it came from. The Decurion had barely made it on board "The Dough Ball" when he started talking about extraction ideas. As crazy as it seems, his ideas had worked. He had received his training, set up his family on Dighton and had started a successful rehab program for volunteers and concubines.

Several years ago, "The "Dough Ball" and her sister ships "The Olde Oaken Bucket", "Once Upon A Scream" and "The Cuckoo's Nest" had each made a trip to Dighton. It is a water world with the two small continents and a lot of islands. With no native aquaculture above plankton, the waters were being seeded with earth native plants and animals. These ships were headed to both Dighton and Hudson. Hudson was a cool rocky planet. It would have to be terraformed to make it friendly for agriculture, but there were far worse places to be. This extraction was to be the biggest one yet in New England .

It was "Spring Weekend" at the college. Several food vendors lined the outer edge of "The Quad". The college had a stand selling locally made beers and wines. An old style stage had been erected in the center and it was surrounded with vintage sound equipment. Two regional acts had been booked in as the headliners and the remainder of the bill was comprised of local club acts and student bands. The crowd comprised of students, teachers and local residents was slowly filtering in. They were spreading blankets and placing folding chairs. In the shade of the large trees there were some couples lying together and enjoying each other. The gates to the school were manned by some large men and women.

Chapter 3

In the pit area at the track, things were in full swing. Chaplain Joe Baker had done his pre race service. Joe had started as a local reporter before getting the call and beginning his ministry. Over the years the ministry had grown from a one man operation into an organization that served the New England states. Earlier in the day, an old friend had stopped by. John Kucharski and Joe had been friends for many years. Joe had helped him celebrate a recovery anniversary many years ago and they had kept in touch. John introduced him to his boss after explaining that they were there on business.

The crews were running around and the sound of air wrenches filled the air. Just inside the fences a group of large men and women in ASCAR uniforms were preparing to go into action.

After the final heat race, there was an intermission scheduled. Fans left their seats in search of bathrooms, burgers, brats and beer. The souvenir booths were doing a brisk business. As the last fans making a visit to their cars reentered the gate, a very large person took the place of the ticket taker.

Commander Mike McAndrews entered the announcer's booth at the top of the main grandstand. He had a few words with the track personnel and then quietly took his seat.

The support divisions moved quickly through their feature races. Within an hour a 20 lap hobby stock race was followed by features for the four cylinder cars, the track modifieds and the semi late models. No one was being allowed to leave the pit area, although many of the lower division teams were packing up.

The touring division teams entered the infield pit area. It was to be a two hundred lap race, so each team had five members with tools and tires. Slowly the cars lined up on pit road in their starting order. Also entering the infield were several ASCAR members.

We started the car and drove to the front of the field, It was a time honored tradition that visiting pace cars would lead the field during the parade laps. The track's pace car would then take control of the field for the race.

Chapter 4

Mount Marion was an old school. The first classes had been held in the late nineteenth century. Over the years, the campus had grown to twelve dorms and over five thousand students. With the coming of the Confederacy, the school had changed its focus. Where it had once been the second best college in the area for female academics, it had now become a school divided into three curricula. Class one was devoted to sponsors with entry level CAP s of 6.5 and above. Class two was for women with sponsorship potential and restricted to 4.5 and above. Class three was for entry level concubines. In addition to the CAP oriented classes there was also an academically challenging program for all levels. Each student would be CAP tested on her birthday or at the beginning of the school year. The goal was to graduate as many sponsors as possible while preparing students for an extraction at any time. On this warm spring day there were approximately 4,500 students, staff and visitors in the area. Of that number there were seven hundred forty two female sponsor candidates and fifty seven males.

For the company of Confederacy Marines, the day had begun early. Four females had been assigned to each dorm. Two would cover the dining hall while the other two went room to room. The students from each dorm were held in place and would be transported to the extraction site. Other squads assumed positions around the campus. The ultra high CAP people were escorted to the library for their safety.

By four in the afternoon, things were heating up. Off campus students, friends and residents of the town were filtering though the gates. They were being scanned for weapons and both identification and CAP cards were being checked by the Marines. The AI was networking the campus. When there were sufficient numbers, the campus gates were closed. The high CAP people left the library under Marine escort and the students from the dorms filtered in.

Commander Sandra Michael was in contact with the AI that was in charge of the extraction. She was also in contact with the commanding officer at the track. The next part was going to be tricky. The goals on this extraction were more complex than normal. It would be a three part deal. The first move would be to get any pre packs. The next part would be to match up sponsors and concubines on site. The final move would be to extract enough women to cover the shortfall at the track. They had room for a few spares, but the idea was to be as close as possible.