"Chloe and Salyanna II"

An extraction from 'Cardomon'
a novel by James (Ben) Mielke"
boneyardhound@hotmail.com
This is Ben's third "extraction" from 'Cardomon', Click here for the previous two.

Salyanna tired of talking to wood and preferred standing next to the bunkbed, speaking directly to Mabutu. "You have bruises--did Luvin jump you again?"

"Yeah." He was nearly invisible in the dark, with a blanket up almost to his ears.

"You're bigger than him, fight back."

"I can't, Sal. I'm scared."

Salyanna made an involuntary hiss of disgust. "Eunuchs," she muttered.

Mabutu lay on his bunk quietly, but Salyanna heard him sniffling.

"I'm sorry, Bubu," she said, firmly. "But it's time to stand up."

"He's mean--like the men in the brothel used to be." His voice cracked.

She was still disgusted: "He's just a little kid! We can beat him up."

"What about the others--Synoveh and Marcus? He's their kid; we're strangers here."

"Luenda likes us," Salyanna argued. "She doesn't like having Luvin around Edzelian."

"No, Sal!" he cried, shaking his head vigorously. "We can't go getting into fights."

"I'm not gonna let a little punk mess with you!"

Mabutu resigned to fate. "Don't hurt him too much."

Salyanna barked a cynical laugh. "I won't--just enough to remember us by."

"You've changed, Sal. You're not like a brothel babe anymore." He threw off the cover and sat against the outside wall, with knees up and feet on the bed. He looked directly at his companion's face.

Shadowed against the moonlit window, Salyanna was a shifting shape of shaggy hair and gauzy nightgown, her face was an impression in charcoal. "We're not in a brothel, are we? I'm feeling better these days--lighter."


"You look better--you stand up straight and you smile a lot more. It's very pretty."

She took in the praise and felt warmer. "Thank you, Bubu. I think I have a reason to smile, somehow--even when no one is looking."

"They're nice people here--except Luvin."

She nodded. "I'm thinking so. It was so scary at first. But you were right--they don't want anything from us."

"Synoveh said we should join the kid's class and learn to read."

The idea startled her fancy, "Do you want to?"

"It's kind of strange around the kids, but I like them."

"They're funny. How come we were never kids like that?"

"I don't know, Sal. Brothel kids need to work, no time for school."

A puzzled frown worried her brow. "What's reading about?"

"It's so you can learn more and know things."

Learning and knowing was an enormous concept. "Like what?"

"I don't know--maybe about why brothel kids are different."

"I don't think they know."

He applied the logic: "If you can read, then you can write--I guess. Then you can remember things better, and make plans and tell people your feelings. That's what Synoveh told me."

"Most of the time, I want to forget my feelings."

"Me too, Sal. But sometimes I can't help but think about it. Maybe writing would help get it out of me. Synoveh says books talk a lot about people's feelings and what people do about them. It's like all these people talking to you and sharing. You know Rajin; he's always reading and he's really smart too."

"Reading will make us smart?"

"It can't make us dumb."

Salyanna chuckled lightly, "Maybe because we already are."

Mabutu laughed back with that childish laughter; shaking, tearful gasping; laughing in the nose and chest; the sort of laugh adults rarely experience without drugs or fever. Salyanna joined him, roaring and booming hilariously from her chest. "You're dumb!" -- "You're dumber!" -- "We're dumb!" -- "Everybody's dumb!" went the call and response.

Barefoot and in pajama bottoms, Marcus came into the room. "What's all the noise?"

All they could do was point at him, laughing "Dumb! We're dumb!" and so on.

It was contagious, Marcus began laughing too until he had to brace himself in the doorway.

Synoveh came up behind him and started laughing without asking why; a happy Sunrah looked over her shoulder, laughing in his papoose.

Luvin stayed in his room, resenting the gaiety, with his head buried in his pillows and his tiny fists balled in tension.



Salyanna decided not to wait, but to go ahead and confront Luvin as soon as possible. The very next day she stalked him to the toilet shed and waited for him to emerge. He was looking down, buttoning his trousers, when Salyanna swooped in and clapped him over the left ear with an open handed blow.

Luvin tumbled over and rolled to the base of a tree. He sat up on the ground, rubbing the side of his head.

Salyanna charged in and slapped him twice more, across each cheek. "You leave Mabutu alone--do you hear me?"

He tried to kick her in the groin but she danced aside and caught hold of his foot, pulling it up, dragging him to his backside. She released the foot and leaned forward; putting her hand on his chest, resting her weight there, her face inches from his; her bundle of curly hair swaddled his head. "Do you hear me?"

Luvin was ready to surrender, but he couldn't speak with her weight crushing his ribs. He was turning blue and flailing helplessly; Salyanna kept bearing down.

Mabutu had followed Salyanna, keeping discreetly distant, but he yelled out when he saw her on top of Luvin: "Sal! Stop it! You'll kill him!" He ran in close and tried pulling her away but she was twice his size and immobile.

Salyanna was enjoying a new sense of power; she didn't want to release the moment. She leered into Luvin's face with an evil grin she hoped was like the looks of the men when they mounted her. She wanted to hump, thrust and grind on him; drive him into the dirt and obliterate him. Her knees began to quiver as the feeling peaked.

Luvin was purple in the face and gasping.

Mabutu ran at her with open arms, he grabbed a thigh and knocked her down. They rolled on the ground, locked in a strange grapple/hug, shouting at each other, finally stopping when each ran out of breath. They sat up, side to side, covered with dust.

Luvin was gone, but Luenda stood watching, Edzelian at her hip, one hand in hers and his other hand at his face, thumb deep in his mouth.

"Why are you fighting?" Luenda demanded.

Mabutu was silent.

"He stole my peaches," Salyanna said.

Luenda was confused; there was no shortage of fruit. "That's nothing to fight over--go get more."

"It's not peaches," Mabutu said, rising to his feet. "It was Luvin."

Salyanna grabbed his forearm and tried to yank him back down. "Bubu, shut up!"

Luenda was more perplexed. "You were fighting over Luvin? Why?"

"He keeps jumping Bubu."

"Luvin attacks all of the kids." Luenda turned to her boy, "Tell them, Edzy, how Luvin bothers you."

Edzelian took his thumb from his mouth and looked up at his mother.

"Go ahead," she urged.

"Luvin knocks me down," He looked at Salyanna and Mabutu. "He throws things at me and pulls my hair. I don't like him."

"You see? You two shouldn't fight about it."

Salyanna was exasperated. "Why doesn't somebody stop him?"

"How?"

She had no suggestion. "Send him away or something."

"There is no away." Luenda had a wistful look. "We have to live with him and try to teach him respect. He's the oldest child and thinks he is boss. We probably spoiled him."

Mabutu said, "We're sorry we were fighting."

"That's okay. I used to fight with my Sisters sometimes--when nobody else was around. It was always over something silly. I like you two; you're different from the other refugees; not as desperate. Some of the men are getting ugly!"



"Roxie! Get over here, right now!" Cal faced the sallow man with ruddy hair walking with the blowsy woman. "I'm warning you, Jepson, keep your fucking hands off of my wife." His hand patted the sheath knife riding on his hip. Cal's eyes were bloodshot and baggy.

"Easy, Cal," Jepson said. "We were only walking around the pond. I never touched her."

Freedom was making Roxie defiant but Cal was scary enough that she had to listen to his demands; her obedience was perfunctory and laced with resistance. She moved slowly to a spot halfway between the men and then faced Cal, "I gotta right, you know. You don't own me and we're not really married. Show me some respect, Cal."

He rushed over, drawing back his hand to swing a slap into her face.

Roxie closed her eyes, wincing and leaking tears. The blow fell squarely on her mouth and her head snapped to the left. "That's what I respect," Cal snarled. His attention spun to Jepson. "What are you looking at?"

He averted his face. "Nothing."

"Fucking right."

The picnic lawn is a public space visible from most of Branch House; much of the time there is a responsible adult near at hand. Jody, Hildy and Peter all witnessed Cal's violence. They ran over, shouting.

Cal twirled about to confront them; his hand went again to the knife on his hip.

Hildy was the fastest runner and came up seconds ahead of the others. "Hold it, Cal." He spread his arms in a wide open posture, partly defensive, partly as a gesture of peaceful empty hands. Jody and Peter arrived at his flanks, but stood behind half a step.

"This is a private affair," Cal said. He turned to Roxie, "Right, Sweetie?"

She nodded a tearful face, still reddened from the blow, and edged up to Cal's side. "Right, just a personal matter." Roxie put an arm around his waist, nuzzled his shoulder and forced a smile. She trembled.

"You don' have to take it from him," Peter said. "We wanna help you."

"I'm better if you leave us alone."

Jody said, "We're not going to tolerate violence. This is a place for raising kids in peace. If you can't respect that, then you have to leave."

"Fuck if I care," Cal said. "Already told me I can't get drunk, gotta be quiet and watch my language--I can't do nothing!"

"If you feel that way," Hildy said, "then go on--get out of here. You'll be welcome at Drunkard's Den, I'm sure. Roxie can stay, you too, Jepson."

"I go with Cal," she said. Jepson was silent, but nodded agreement.



"I got some of their stuff," Mabutu said as he entered the bunkroom, producing a large bottle of the purple extract from under his shirt.

Salyanna was sitting in her bed; she looked shocked, disappointed. "You said they use that stuff for sex! You don't want me that way, do you? I thought you loved me!"

"No, Sal. I'm sorry--I do love you! They use this stuff to get high in all kinds of ways--some of the musicians take it all the time. It's not sex! Let's just get high."

"I don't think so."

He put the bottle aside and went over to her. "I'm sorry! Give me a hug."

She stood up and they embraced.

"I swear I don't want to fuck you," he said.

"Have you tried the stuff?"

"No, they won't give it to me--say I'm too young. I stole that bottle."

She smiled, "Naughty boy. Since you went to so much trouble, you'd feel hurt if I didn't take it."

Mabutu was laughing. "Well, shall we?"

"What kind of high is it?"

"I think you sleep, mostly, and you get into some kind of trance--you hear voices."

"Let's do it tonight, after it gets dark."



Quiet hours nominally start shortly after sunset, but in a Branch House full of infants, toddlers and free ranging adults, actual tranquility doesn't settle in until almost midnight. Salyanna and Mabutu sat silently in their bunks, waiting, feigning sleep but wide awake in anticipation. The wait was an endurance test, the idea of getting high was so exciting--it had been weeks! Plus there was the decadent thrill of breaking rules. Salyanna wanted to leap up, laughing, and gulp the stuff down. She tasted it, not even knowing its flavor, imagining the flavor of exotic experience. Mabutu had a finer appreciation of life, being a eunuch; he had an acute sense of deferred gratification, his patience was almost inbred.

They waited until the red moon hit the window, slipping outside into a night warm with herbaceous summer aromas that followed on puffs of breeze. Outside was a circle of cabins and a path down to the pond, beaten into dusty submission by the continuous passage of tiny bare feet. The picnic lawn had a view of rippling reflections, red and gold.

Mabutu sat on the grass; Salyanna's arm went over his shoulder as she knelt beside him. He brought the bottle from under his jacket, put it in his lap and looked at it, curiously.

"Are we gonna do it?" she demanded.

"I was just wondering how much to take--we don't know what it's like."

"Give it to me, I'll take it."

"Wait!" He picked up the bottle and pulled the cap off. One last hesitation, then he drank about one fourth of the fluid and gave the bottle to Salyanna.

She gulped all of it down as quickly as possible.



They transitioned quickly; one moment sitting together, whispering speculations over the approaching experience; Mabutu started nodding and Salyanna lay down with him in a hug. They both slipped under and the fuzzy purple cilia grew out over their bodies.

The friendly voice with green eyes met her and listened to her story and Mabutu told his, simultaneously. It wasn't babble, just parallel information. Salyanna heard Mabutu heard Salyanna and Cardomonas followed them all the way.



After hundreds of encounters with a diverse range of colonists, Cardomon's curiosity about sex was finally jaded. Subsuming the physical, It pursued emotional contexts and the myriad dimensions of sexuality; the links of personalities and bodies; the weird love/lust duality/dichotomy that turns simple needs into blazing outbreaks of desire. It learned to investigate mood before going directly to the gonads, surprised to learn that people sometimes had other intentions.

Salyanna and Mabutu taught It further aspects of sexuality--abuse and exploitation. It grew memories of a forest of erect penises invading youthful bodies, stretching, tearing, chafing--violent, indifferent--taking, taking, taking. It hurt so much It went numb--raw and numb and screaming inside. And It discovered the drugs that turned the scream into a dream.

It understood by now that people liked to 'get high'; It even grasped how that desire had brought human consciousness into It's sphere of knowledge, waking It. It enjoyed a head with a good buzz going on, especially from mellow herbs; It thought alcohol poison and avoided drunken minds. Now, via these childish minds, It met the need to medicate away existence; the use of drugs to achieve a safe distance from intolerable reality.

The idea of intolerable reality was stunning; It's only natural defense was to avoid hostile environments. Brothel life was an unnatural hostile environment and It had internalized the experience.

Recoiling, shifting from the minds back to familiar dimensions; Cardomon investigated their cells and molecules, receiving another shock--these children were damaged and dying! Growing up on a regimen of synthetic hormones, anti-viral drugs, tanning lights, skin toning medications, cosmetics, violence, bodily fluids, artificial food, and narcotic addictions had ravaged their tissues; multiple cancers were imminent.

This was a job to do, Cardomon realized--genetics were It's specialty--an urgent one in Salyanna's case, and It set to work immediately. Never before in It's long history had It labored to repair an individual organism; situations like this normally provoked a euthanizing response to avoid passing the genetic damage. It knew compassion.



They woke just around dawn, more in love with each other than they knew possible. They'd seen through the other's soul: Salyanna met Mabutu's parents, seen them murdered in front of the baby boy; felt the castrating tourniquet killing his masculinity; the training in the better arts of the eunuch, more feminine than the brothel babes. But he had a sarcastic mouth, too cutting and honest to amuse the gentlemen; he was beaten nearly to death, sold to a crude working-class bordello and shipped to Cardomon. Together, through the fungus, they met the colony--at least those experienced in the drug, mostly Homesteaders--and realized a sense of unity; a family like they only heard those crazy 'freedom' babes talk about, just before killing themselves. This family was joy, however, something growing with each baby, strong, blossoming. This was life outside of a brothel.

They unwrapped from the other's arms and sat up. Towering bronze clouds reflected approaching dawn and mists drifted over the pond. It was chilly, but they were stimulated and feeling flush.

"I'm hungry," Mabutu complained.

"Let's raid the kitchen."

They got to their feet, facing the Branch House.

"Bet you Achen's already there making those tasteless cakes. Where did he learn to cook?"

"I saw Marcus and Luvin bringing in some peaches yesterday--that's all I want."

"Someone should make a pie."

"You read my mind. "

They both laughed so hard they had to stop walking and catch their breath.



Luvin was being pushy, knocking the other kids around and making them cry. He'd been acting up all morning and Achen was tired of it. He called for Synoveh and begged her to take the brat away for a while, offering to keep an eye on Sunrah instead. The boy, now seven months, was comfortably asleep in his papoose, and she was easy with carrying him during chores. Marcus and Peter had rigged secure suspension frames on the cabin walls giving the babies an adult's eye-level perch, freeing grown-up hands. She declined, scooping up Luvin in one arm and walking out with both children. The older boy squawked and squirmed, worming from her grasp. She put him down and gave him a stern warning. He sulked, refusing to budge with silent tears in his eyes, kicking his feet in frustration.

Synoveh only had custody of Luvin for five minutes before she was ready to send him back. She picked him up again, deaf to his protests and holding tightly with both hands; she took him to the community kitchen.

It was time to clean the stove and she needed full mobility. She ordered Luvin to sit down and in his sullen mood he felt like complying, wanting to be unnoticed. He went to a spot on the floor in a corner. Synoveh placed Sunrah in one of the suspension frames; he opened his golden brown eyes dreamily, burbled and smiled--he liked to hang up and watch his mother. With heavy tasks she preferred working alone, without distracting chatter, and closed the door, opening a window for fresh air.

She bent over in front of the stove to pull the ash-bucket from its slot beneath the firebox, then poured a gallon of water over the ashes, stirring it in with a poker. She pushed the ash-bucket out of her way, turning back to the stovetop, removing the grills and taking them to soak in the basin.

There were noises behind her briefly: shuffling fabric, a footfall and a metallic 'clink'; Sunrah started crying and she turned to look.

One of the refugees, Jason, stood in front of the baby, prodding him in the cheek with an outstretched finger. In his right hand, at his side, he held a large carving knife from the adjacent sideboard. "I've never been around babies before. They cry too much."

The sight shook Synoveh with horror, "Stop it, you're hurting him," she yelled in outrage.

"Why not?" he said, jabbing harder and then dragged a rough fingernail across Sunrah's face, leaving a scratch. The terrified baby screamed. "Make him be quiet."

Synoveh rushed to Sunrah, huddled over him and tried to be soothing in spite of her own fear. She put her fingers over his mouth and cooed with a shaky voice; he watched her eyes and got a little quieter, but still wailed.

Jason pointed the knife at her face, "If you make any noise I'll kill both of you."

Synoveh nodded.

"Leave the baby, go close that window."

She didn't turn away, but sidled over to the window and closed the shutters by feel.

Jason followed closely with wide glazed eyes and teeth exposed in a snarling leer. "I was watching through that window: You were shaking some tasty tailfeathers at me when you bent over a minute ago. Matches that fine pair of cahungas up front--never seen anything so plump and juicy. It's time I got a hold of some." He clutched at her breasts, taking a handful of the right one and twisting harshly, not letting go.

She bit back a yelp, tried to knee him in the crotch, missing. He released her and punched her full on, hammering her right eye socket. She recoiled, staggering backwards until she bumped into a table.

Jason chased over and slammed her onto the tabletop, backhanding her face. "Pull up your smock, show me your hole."

Synoveh's hands shook and her fingers had no strength, she couldn't grasp the fabric of her knee length work robe.

Enraged, he slapped her again, then slashed the gown, leaving a bleeding gash in her left thigh. He ripped the garment up to the collar.

The sight of her bloody nakedness fired him up and he made a triumphant yell. He dived his face between her breasts, biting mouthfulls of flesh and trying to inhale them. He shoved his fingers into her vagina, pinching and clawing. Then he got up on the table, kneeling over her, undoing his pants.

Without the brothel drugs it was difficult for him to have a firm erection, but the violence was aphrodisiac to him. Getting ready, he stroked his penis with one hand while slapping her with the other.

The door burst open and Luenda ran into the room, clubbing Jason on the head with a heavy piece of firewood. He fell back and the table overturned, dumping Synoveh on top of him. She crawled away as Luenda closed in on him, drawing her hunting knife. Luenda knelt on Jason's chest and pulled back the knife for a deep stab.

"Stop!" Achen was standing in the doorway. "Not in front of the kids."

"No?" Luenda turned to Synoveh, "What do you say?"

Naked, bloody and teary, she sat on her haunches shaking her head. "No! No! It's too horrible! Why? You bastard--we helped you! Don't kill him yet, that's my duty. We gotta do it right."

Throughout the entire episode Luvin sat in the corner, watching, fascinated. The next day the sight of his mother's bruised face, all swollen and discolored, the right eye bruised shut, reminded him of a clown, and he laughed. Marcus was so outraged he nearly slapped his own son.



They imprisoned Jason in a shallow cave, walled him in with heavy rocks and gave him a week's supply of food along with two buckets of water. Nobody had treated his concussion and an enormous purple/black welt distorted his left temple, blood seeped from the ear. He was unresistant, almost catatonic, and never said a word.

Once Synoveh was able--three days after the assault--she moderated a late-night women-only meeting at Taralisa's herb garden. They already agreed that Jason must die, and they determined not to let his body go to Cardomonas; the fungus within his body needed to die with him, he had to be strangled, suffocated, skinned alive with the blood quickly drained, cremated alive, or drowned. Synoveh chose strangulation, but declined to perform the deed; she was exhausted. Luenda and Naomi volunteered.

The execution squad played solemn music together for two hours, drum and flute keeping long thoughtful time; Synoveh's violin accompanied with a painful meditation that struck unexpected harsh angles--the others sang a harmony of dark chords. Setting out at midnight, taking three other women, the two angels of vengeance went to Jason's cave. Synoveh waited in the garden with the remainder of the crowd. The blue and red moons rose, gibbous and waning.

Jody and Marcus were on guard; Marcus slept on the ground while Jody sat by a small fire with a thin blanket over his shoulders, watching the stars. They rose when the execution party arrived. Everybody worked to dismantle the rock wall. Moonlight filled the cave.

The space within reeked of sour urine and stale shit. Jason sat against the rear wall, staring at them with hollow eyes. Luenda went to his side and kicked him sharply in the thigh. "Get up!"

He stood up silently, looking into her face the entire time.

Luenda avoided the eyes, averting hers, and sidestepped behind him. She looped a garrote of braided leather strips around his neck and stopped. Her hands, stained from the blood of thousands of hunted animals, couldn't take this life--he was too passive and pathetic; her resolve ebbed. Tears of shame filled her eyes. "Naomi!" she snapped. "Do this, please."

The journalist stepped over. She didn't hesitate or focus on the prisoner but took a wooden dowel from Luenda's hand and inserted it into the looped ends of the garrote. She twisted it, closing the noose tight.

Jason finally started fighting, kicking and thrashing; but he was spiritless. Luenda held him by the wrists, behind his back, and Naomi kept cranking the dowel. Jason's face swelled, turned dark, eyes bulging from their sockets; his tongue was an ugly black nipple, with a snarling grimace for the areola. His bladder emptied and then his bowels; fresh excremental fumes filled the cave.

A dying Jason went limp; Naomi almost lost her grip when he fell, but she stayed with him, keeping the tension on. Luenda released him, but there was no struggle left. He lay on the floor, Naomi crouching over his throat; his fingers clawed weakly at the garrote, he kicked twice more and was dead.

Naomi stood up, dropping the dowel; her hands shook and angry tears blinded her. She was gasping for air and covered in sweat, as if just finishing vigorous sex. Luenda assisted her from the cave, stepping over the body and taking her friend by the elbow.

They left the cave, silently; the others reassembled the rock wall, leaving the body to desiccate. Later that week they returned and planted brambles and scraggly brush, concealing the spot for generations to come.



Afterward, Luenda, Naomi, and Synoveh spent a week in seclusion, high up the side canyon at the Mucetti cabin. They took the drug together:

It was getting used to people by now, hundreds of minds had visited, many returning often. The sex magic was popular, of course, but there was other energy--introspection and curiosity, the sense of expansive life--attracting users.

The mood of the three women was new to It; the memories at the top of their stack were of horror. It looked into a bleak sea of pain and terror, humiliation and grief, alienation and anger, anger, anger. Jason's face was twicewise visible: at once the face of the hate filled, exultant rapist, towering over his victim; and again, the distorted snarl of the dying man.

Cardomon learned pain from the inside: fingers and fists violating her, bruising, bloodying. It saw her children's eyes watching; It knew helplessness and fury and fear and-- Slap! Slap! Slap! --in the face; violence too sharp and sudden for response; too random, too meaningless; emotionally deadly, nullifying.

Cardomon learned hatred: hearing a frightened baby and looking through a window; seeing a beloved Sister within under humiliation. She reacted from a space beyond thinking; picking up a block of wood and kicking in the door; swinging and hitting, all in one flow of energy, moving with the ease of a dancer. Jason was beneath her, semi-conscious, with blood oozing from his ear, unfocussed eyes roving erratically. The knife was ready, the surge of emotion in her fingertips and her loins and her jaw and-- Stop! --Achen's interrupting voice breaking the flow, spoiling the moment.

And the hatred grew cold, a calculating force, worried about a future of violence, a world where children were prey and women property. It was a hatred growing from self-love and community defense; determined not to accept that fate. Shrugging off lifelong scruples she closed her eyes, crying, twisting--it was a simple matter of mechanical force, with the dowel adding leverage the noose closed easily, a child could clamp his windpipe. Jason died under her nose, in pain, and she felt justified, but not satisfied, she wanted more.

The ancient mind with an infant ego lacked the emotional vocabulary and it retreated, traumatized. It left the women asleep.



Pyteman hadn't been surprised that the colonists were resistant to Glatz Enterprises following the disaster of Corman's operation; but he kept up a steady, amiable presence around the community. Catalog sales continued out of his warehouses and he drove around personally, with Chloe, making deliveries and taking orders. The spaceport crew visited Firstown as well, driving out in cars and getting acquainted with the colony. They became familiar parts of the Firstown background, hostility faded. Months went by; the Almanor embarked for her annual trading tour, taking a fresh consignment of Cardomian wines, foods, clothes, craftware and jewelry.

To occupy slack hours at the spaceport and generate further revenue Pyteman converted one of his worksheds into a cabaret--the Spaceport Canteen--with a stage, three bars, a casino, and a kitchen. Twice a month Firstown musicians put on a party there, blowing till the break of dawn, a tractor shuttle brought celebrants to and from town.



In Homestead there was another crime and three criminals were arrested:

Homer built a jail in one of the warehouses, sectioning off a corner space into three cells and a sanitary unit. Then they marched Leon, Bethica and Wendel in and posted guards. The proceedings of the Criminal Justice subcommittee accelerated, holding daylong meetings wrangling over a legal code, a judicial structure, and penal issues. First, Judge Arrolon refused appointment as Chief Justice; they turned to Homer and he declined; Charlene also said 'no'; and Jolrae desired to be Administrator, not Judge; he passed the offer to Kaila--she was proud to be the colony's choice.

Judge Kaila moved swiftly to establish working mechanisms for the Court. The subcommittee granted her wide authority to conscript colonists for officers and she appointed Homer as Bailiff, in charge of the prisoners.

Under examination, Wendel and Bethica proved incompetent, possessed of childlike intellects. They believed Leon was their savior and followed him blindly. Witnesses to the crimes declared the couple did not join actively in the violence, although they had held spears menacingly in the background. Nobody wanted to punish them and the members of the Village agreed to adopt them back at the Hearth. The scene of the crimes was fitting place for the rehabilitation of the lesser accomplices. Kaila made Jody, Chowder, and Bechet responsible for their supervision and socialization.


Leon presented the Court with an entirely different challenge:

Homer wore a black leather cap with a shiny brass badge above the visor. "Order! Order! Order!" he shouted. "The First Criminal Justice Court for the planet of Cardomon is now in session, the Honorable Kaila Flexer presiding. All rise."

Leon remained seated, tied into his chair and couldn't rise. Faithful to his promise to resist, four colonists had struggled to carry him into the room; now he was disheveled and aloof, staring blankly and offering no response. Ruben stood behind his left shoulder and Chilperic behind his right. They wore caps like Homer's and had short wooden clubs holstered on their belts.

Kaila entered and ascended the bench. She nodded to Homer, sat and rapped her gavel one time.

"Be seated," Homer called out.

The crowd took their places and Kaila looked over the room. It was a conversion of the main hall; the bench and the counsel tables filled the dance floor and Court Clerk Naomi worked from a desk onstage, immediately behind Kaila's right shoulder. Most spectators sat down front and close, a handful occupied the balcony; Luenda, Peter, Achen, and Marcus chaperoned the children in a separate section; Pyteman and Chloe were among the crowd in the balcony, sitting at the rail in front of a stair well.

"The People of Cardomon versus Leon, presumed a native of Brahe," Homer announced, standing in front of the bench and facing the crowd with a passive stare.

Kaila asked: "Is counsel ready?"

"Yes, your Honor," Lucy said from the Prosecution table.

"My client refuses to accept these proceedings," Jolrae announced.

"We understand, but the Court has declared you his proxy. Are you prepared?"

"I am."

"Very well, let's carry on." She faced the room but addressed Naomi, "Present the charges."

"Your Honor," Jolrae interrupted, rising to his feet.

This was all going to a script, including the Judge's look of surprise. "Counsel?"

"It is a long list of gruesome particulars--quite tedious and disturbing. In light of overwhelming physical and eyewitness documentation, Defense is prepared to accept the charges as stipulated: fifteen acts of rape; twenty-two acts of forced oral copulation; forty-three other sexual assaults; twenty acts of unlawful detention; one hundred twelve violent assaults, including eighteen at gunpoint; plus a dozen odd charges of vandalism and public sanitation violations. To all of the preceding we plead 'no contest'." Jolrae sat down.

Kaila nodded, "Does the Prosecution wish to speak?"

Lucy didn't rise. "We accept the plea, your Honor."

"Very well," Kaila continued. "My staff has prepared a sentencing report on Leon." She faced the defendant, "This is your final opportunity to speak to this Court."

Leon closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

Kaila resumed, intoning, her eyes were a steady beam of attention upon her target: "Very well, Leon, once of Brahe. It is the ruling of this Court that you are unfit to enjoy the blessings of human society. It is beyond the purview, and the inclinations, of this Court to order you put to death; therefore, it is ordered that you be confined for the remainder of your natural life. The Court has no desire to visit you with cruelty; we will make reasonable accommodations for your comfort and well being; bear in mind that this is an underdeveloped colony. You may petition this Court for a review of your disposition every five years. Are there any questions?"

"No, your Honor," Lucy said.

"No," Jolrae agreed.

She rapped the gavel a second time. "Court is adjourned."



After the hearing, Lucy walked from the Community Hall and turned north, heading home. Pyteman and Chloe detached from a crowd milling on the lawn and fell in with her.

"I'm very impressed," Pyteman said. "The sophistication of your process rivals that of long developed planets. On a lot of worlds a man like Leon would simply 'disappear'."

Lucy knew about Jason's crime and punishment, but didn't believe that Pyteman and Chloe did. "We're starting to take civilization seriously. Kaila was a good selection for Judge--she understands justice. I regret we wrote a Capital Punishment law that can't touch him. Almost makes me sorry that he didn't kill somebody."

Pyteman snorted out a short laugh. "I guess he isn't vicious enough! We have a car nearby--can Chloe give you a ride home? I want to see if I can have a word with Jolrae. He gave a great performance."

Lucy stopped walking and faced Chloe, looking down at her; she had her pleasant sales-person face on, a gentle smile with mellow eyes, ready to help. "I'll take a ride," Lucy said. "We can do business--there's kitchen equipment I want to order."

"Excellent." Chloe took Lucy's elbow and the two sauntered away.

The car was in an alley between warehouses; Chloe opened the passenger door and went around to the other side.

It took a few minutes of slow driving to thread through the pack of people wandering back to their homes. Chloe started talking while she drove: "What I saw today makes me feel--as a woman--unprotected. Leon needs to die."

"I agree; but we made our laws that way. I can only enforce what is written."

"What a shame. He might escape, or fool another Judge into leniency. There should be an ultimate authority; above the Law and free to cleanse society of its very worst."

Lucy said nothing, thinking on what she heard.

"Public safety should be paramount, don't you think?" Chloe went on. "That's what gives people confidence in their future." They were past the crowd of pedestrians and she shifted into higher gear.