Inserts (updated)

Preface:
In the course of writing a project there is a tendency to rush to the finish line with the plot, and essential details, characters, and settings don't get the author's attention until after the fact. Here then are a few additions to the ongoing narrative 'Cardomon'.
This entry will be updated periodically.

Week 1

Homer stepped onto the stage, faced the assembled colonists. They had their best outfits on, tidiest hair arrangements, and most subdued attitudes.

He spoke: “We meet here for the sake of Kasimira Chenko, our fallen comrade. I didn’t know her well, and I can’t find anybody that did. My experience with her on the job was always good. Kasimira worked hard and cheerfully; I was glad to have her on my crew.

“Administrator privileges gave me access to her personal space on the network. I found a diary—unfortunately there aren’t any entries since we awoke. The last one is dated the day we checked in for hyber-sleep. It was a dry statement of facts. I want to read to you another passage; so we have a memory of this fine young woman. The date is six months before we embarked, and marks an auspicious moment.

“She wrote: The Planetary Foundation says our ship, the Prairie Schooner number 17178, is finished and ready for us! There’s a party out in the barracks and the excitement is insane. I’m giddy—like I’ve had champagne but I’m sober as ever.

“Four years some of us have been here, and now Academy is finished soon. I’ll miss it, even the barracks and calisthenics before breakfast.

“But the news means our future is at hand. Reality comes to replace classroom training. I’m ready!

“I’m full of energy when I think of the work ahead. Full of hope and anticipation. Our own land and house, room for the family!

“We can’t have doubts about this. We will make a future, and it’s going to be strong. There isn’t a choice.

“I believe this colony is the best group of people ever sent to start a planet. I’m honored I’m in the pioneer group. Do all the hard work but I get to be everywhere first!

“We have a great job to do, and a great world to make. We make it our way, for our people, and our future. I only wish there was more of me to share the pride.”

Homer paused; then: “I love that enthusiasm. Many of you share it. Like Kasimira, I’m  proud to be of this group. She loved us all. Let’s have a moment of contemplation… ”

Heads bowed.

A minute later, Homer continued: “Her remains were cremated. We designated the vacant lot across from the Biology Hut for a memorial park. We have a stone carver—Marcus, would you stand up?”

Short, dark, massive shoulders and arms, a block of a face with scowling dark eyes and a big jaw. Marcus nodded a few times and resumed his seat.

“Marcus will make a monument.” An awkward pause. “Before we conclude; would anybody like to add any words?”

A woman stood; tall, black hair, bright eyes. “I’m Suthra. I didn’t know Kasimira well—she liked ‘Kas’, actually—we were in the same berth and had tea most mornings. All her friends are in hyber-sleep; I hate to think of telling them.

“Kas was in a partnership with a half-dozen friends from Callahan. They intend to found a produce marketing cooperative, she was on the pioneer crew to scout land for their farms.

“She had three suitors—they planned a double marriage and a huge rambling house with space to have a dozen babies. Karleen, Nelson, and Dennis; their life is torn apart, and they don’t know it. I’m so sad for them…

“I can’t think of more to say. I only had tea with her a few times. We mustn’t forget her, even if she was only on Cardomon for a couple of days; Kas is part of us…

“Thank you… Thank you, Kas.”

Suthra sat down.

No other words.

Week 3

They entered Commissary. Jody and three others readied the room; tables collapsed, folded, stacked; and the chairs set out in arched rows facing the stage. Snacks and drinks, hot, cold, salty, sweet, caffeine, and light alcohol; against the wall, stage left.

          Meeting time in fifteen minutes. Colonists filtered in, voices and laughter echoed.

Paul and Mellisa went for the treats. The young scientist saw eyes on the physician; suspicious looks, angry glances.

Other faces smiled; friendly greetings, more than one voice said ‘I like to walk under the stars, too’.

Paul turned to the snacks, reached for the coffee and poured a large mugful. As he put the pot back to the warmer his elbow collided with Charlene’s. His coffee splashed and mixed in mid-air with red wine from her glass, stained the tablecloth brown and purple.

The colleagues laughed at the mess.

Charlene went to the kitchen for a towel and Paul cleared the wet space. He looked for Mellisa, but she wasn’t near the snack bar.

Charlene returned, they cleaned.

With fresh drinks they went to the fourth row of seats.

The colonists milled and mulled; braided conversational knots—Mellisa was at the center of the largest.

The Mucettis entered, the physician’s crowd boiled around them. There was a brief, silent, four-way meeting.

Homer stepped up in front of the stage and called for order.

Nobody heard him.

He put index fingers under upper lip and blew a shrill schoolyard whistle: ‘Tweee—Whooo—Eeeet!’.Startled, people turned to look and remembered why they were there.

They migrated to their perches, balanced drinks on knees, assumed a generally attentive manner.

Homer whistled a second time for the stragglers. The front row audience winced at the sound.

Mellisa joined Paul and Charlene; the Mucettis went to the center.

          Homer paced the central area—fifteen feet across—waited for silence. Finally, he looked out at the assembly and spoke: "I've heard from many of you today. A lot of folks are unhappy about being grounded; it was necessary to manage the situation. Four missing people is enough—more than enough." He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. "We have an apparent discipline problem. We have all committed, by contract, to perform the labors of building this colony. Amelia, Ediza and Luenda Mucetti have been violating that commitment." He paused and looked over the faces watching him.

          A Mucetti stood and stepped forward. "I will speak for the three of us."

          The Sisters had cleaned up and exchanged their leathers for two-piece zippered worksuits that were the basic outfit around the colony. They had coiled their long braids into elaborate knots. The jackets bore names stitched across the left breast; the speaker’s professed ‘Amelia’. Paul wondered if the Mucettis wore the correct names.

          ‘Amelia’ continued, she circled as she spoke, eyes reached to her comrades. "We meant no harm. We come from a world with a strong custom of hunting, fishing and trapping. It is how we gather the skins that are the basis of our handcrafts. It is also how we honor our spirit traditions. We honestly hoped that nobody would notice our absences—and nobody would have but for the Doctor's decision to engage in her own spirit walk."

          The curious eyes swung around to focus on Mellisa; then Amelia went on, attention returned to the center space. "We know we broke our agreement but we are committed to the colony. We never shirked any critical tasks or failed to be there when needed—but most afternoons, when you thought that three of us were working, there would only be one or two."

          This admission caused a brief wave of comments through the crowd. A red haired woman stood up, "I like to fish, too. But we've got a job to get done, we can't let folks just pick and choose when they'll be working." A murmur arose, approving noises emerged.

The woman sat down.

          "We are sorry," Amelia said. "We will do what we must to make amends—even work extra shifts."

          Mellisa leapt to her feet, "I can help."

          "How?" Homer asked.

          To address the crowd she spoke at Homer. "I've been idle during this construction process—I wish somebody would give me something to do! Let me assist the Mucetti sisters. I can use a shovel as well as a scalpel. I am awake at dawn each day and so are the Sisters. That’s a time we can work—with supervision, of course."

          Surprised, Homer assayed the two women, eyed the crowd: rapt. "All right. That’s satisfactory—I need a volunteer supervisor."

A few colonists lifted hands.

Mellisa turned toward Paul. He rose to his feet. "I'll watch them."

There was another wave of interested comments around the room and some wise titters.

Homer said, "You won't get any slack on your other responsibilities, you know."

"Of course." Paul sat again.

Seat-to-seat discussions rumbled the room. People began to shuffle and shift.

Homer raised his voice: "We’re not done yet!”

The commotion fizzled.

“Safety is the priority of a properly managed job. We maintain safety with the buddy system. Wilderness and construction sites have something in common: they are hazardous places. Nobody stays out all night alone."

Mellisa: "If I want to explore in my personal time, that's none of your concern."

"You’re safety is my concern—we don't know what kind of wild animals are out there."

"I can see to my own safety, thank you. And I have been observing the wildlife—there are no large predators or other dangerous animals."

"You're sure of that? After three weeks?"

"I'm comfortable with my safety."

"There are no predators," Amelia added. "Meat spoils too fast here."

"Whatever," Homer said. "We don't have the resources to search for missing people… "

"Nobody's been missing," Mellisa protested. "I always know where I am."

Laughter rocked the room. Homer let it subside. "As I was saying, if a person should wander off without informing somebody else of where they are going, they may appear to be missing, and that tends to create a lot of stress for those of us who don't know that they are not missing. And when somebody jumps off of a tractor into the dark without explanation it's only natural for people to be concerned."

"Look, I'm sorry I took off without saying good-bye. We would only have had an argument and I would have jumped anyway. It's my right to use my free hours as I please—so long as I keep to my duties."

There was a wave of approving shouts. A thin man with flashing blue eyes rose at the rear of the crowd. "Yeah, Homer. You can't tell us where we can go—we ain't kids." He sat.

A small roar of yells rose up: "Yeah!" "Right!" "No more lockdowns!" "No curfews!"

"All right! All right!" Homer shouted, he had to whistle again to quiet the din.

Charlene stood up. "The first residents are expected to be living in the town within two weeks anyway, Homer. It's not unreasonable for some to prospect the site. Maybe restricting people is a little extreme."

"You were pretty upset when the Doc skipped out on us last night—you seconded my call for this meeting. I thought you agreed with me?"

"I've been thinking—I was surprised when Mel jumped and this morning when we discovered the Mucettis were also missing—I guess I panicked a little. Everything seems okay now. I'm just suggesting that we do need to be exploring, and these nocturnal adventures should be seen as part of that process."

"Why don't we have a vote," Homer said. "Up or down: we limit people from nighttime activities beyond the perimeter of the landing area until we establish a permanent settlement in the town. Can I have the yeas?"

There was a round of cries.

"The nays?"

The roar of shouts boomed off of the walls.

"Okay," Homer conceded. "The doors are open at night then." Another roar of approval animated the crowd. "But," he continued. "Everybody's got to keep their work assignments—no falling into ditches and getting lost!"

"I have a suggestion," Mellisa said.

"Yes?"

"It's a good point that there may be unknown hazards out there—even I would discourage solo outings unless you have a lot of wilderness experience. I guess we should also let somebody know where we might be planning to be—if only so people know where to look for the bodies."

Jody looked up from his seat in the center row. "I can set up a registry and put it on a computer at the main portal—be real easy to check in and out."

"Why don't you do that," Homer said.

"Then we're coming to an agreement?" Charlene asked.

"I think so," Homer said. He looked at Mellisa, then towards the Mucettis, the four women all made quiet nods. “All right, then. Does anybody have anything else they’d like to bring up?”

There was a rumble of low voices, but nobody spoke out.

"We would like to make an invitation," Amelia announced. "There is a campfire about a mile east of the town. We will be going there after this meeting—to spend the night. Anybody interested in joining us should gather at the gangway at second nine. It is a very long walk, be prepared for that. Bring food and water and warm clothing."

"If you play music, bring your instruments," Mellisa added.

"Even if you don’t, we’d love you there." Amelia finished.

"Be at work on time!" Homer shouted out. "May I remind everybody that we are moving the gene bank tomorrow. It's going to take all day and we'll need everyone to be sharp!"

They crowd departed.

Homer remained and assisted Jody reorganize Commissary. He filled a dish tub with wine glasses and started for the kitchen. The red haired woman, and a tall, lean gentleman approached.

“Homer,” she said. “I’m not satisfied.”

“Me neither.”

His arms were full and he was tired; Homer didn’t slow down. “Yeah?”

“They planned their so called punishment so they can be out with their friends,” the lean man, Sikar Orinitus, said. He had a wide, flat brow, a parabolic line of cheeks and sharp chin, long athletic arms.

Homer faced backward and pushed the kitchen door with his shoulder. “Paul is a responsible supervisor.”

“Maybe you haven’t heard the dirty stories about him and this Doctor.”

“I don’t listen to gossip.” He put his burden down on a counter.

“Sometimes it’s actual news, Homer,” red haired, stocky, round face serious eyes and thin lips; Lucy Haines. “Even relevant.”

“I trust Paul. Mellisa seems cooperative and reasonable. What is your alternative?” They passed back into the large room.

“Put those Mucettis back to sleep. They’re going to be a persistent discipline problem.”

“Guaranteed,” Sikar endorsed.

Jody overheard. “No, boss. I like them!”

Homer faced Sikar and Lucy. “You overreact. They deserve a decent chance. There’s no real harm done except to give me stress. I lost my hair ages ago, now I’m immune. We have plenty of time to focus on discipline.” He turned to the service table and made a deliberate racket with empty coffee mugs, ignored them.

They walked away in frustration.

Week 9

Once upon a log:

Jody raised the flask and had a nice drink, handed the bottle to Bokassa Stutz, a fellow whiskey warrior. On Jody’s other flank Peter held guitar in lap but his mind wasn’t on music and the strings went unstrummed.

“I discovered a problem with using tractor fuel for hooch,” Jody said. “You gotta leave enough behind to run the tractors. Thirsty guys like us can run out.”

The flask relayed down to Peter.

“I know how to make whiskey from corn meal and sugar,” Bokassa remarked.

“Shit, boss. Who don’t? I’m pulling some pieces from the scrap pile—got fifteen feet of copper tubing twisted like a spring. And I’m ready to hammer together a kettle. Weld up a fire box.” Pause, drink, hand container off to Bokassa, continue: “Even got a site that’s perfect, under natural cover—nobody can see it.”

“Alkyhol vapors,” Peter said and reached across Jody’s lap for the liquor.

“Nah—I swear the wind there blows away from town all the time. Never get a whiff of it.”

“You’ve found useful work for idle hands,” Bokassa said with a smile.

“I don’t want this idea getting all over. You know how many drunks we got in town—they’ll all mooch in on it.” Take drink.

“Jus’ us t’ree,” Peter tried to say, but his tongue got in the way.

Three weeks later:

Eight people gathered to watch the first drops of ethanol fall into a one-gallon glass jug. Peter brought Delgard and Derisee, a sweet thirsty couple from his dormitory unit; Bokassa had his friends Davey and Paul Jones; and Patricia accompanied Jody—she was mad at Jerry again.

Not bad for keeping a secret in a small town.

Week 13

Gardul heaved a pitchfork into the compost pile and levered open a hole, pulled material from deep inside and inverted it as he brought it to the top. Clumps and clusters of purple filaments held the decaying vegetation together in crumbling masses. Purple dust filtered out, purple dust saturated the compost.

“I’m not really complaining about it,” Gardul explained. “I just want to know what’s going on. Near as I can tell; it’s making the system more efficient. We get the compost quicker and it has better indices of soluble nutrients.”

“I know the dust,” Charlene said. “A lot of botanical specimens decay suddenly and always rot into purple dust. It behaves like a fungus and I find spores everywhere—that’s what that purple dust is.”

“We probably should avoid inhaling it.”

“Everyone breaths it all the time—since we first walked outside. If it made people sick I think we would have discovered that nasty truth already. I’m not dead, neither are you; it must be safe. I’ll take specimens—confirm my diagnosis. Do you want me to do anything about it?” Charlene took sample bags from her pocket and scooped material out of the compost into the bag; she used bare hands.

“If it’s benign then don’t bother. I know that you must be overloaded with work.”

“My computer does all the work. I just tell it what to do. Coming out in the field is my big effort. This was a simple expedition.”

Gardul smiled. “Good. It’s healthy fresh air—with spores.”

“That’s funny… Well—I should get back to the lab. See you in town.”

“Before you go… Kaila says we don’t see enough of you. I agree. You and Synoveh—remember how we always hung out at the Academy?”

“I’m sorry—so busy! I forget, and I don’t have Jack around to remind me.”

“We have a couple of bottles of red wine. See if you can pull Synoveh from Marcus’s arms long enough to visit… Tonight? Patty’s coming over.”

“I’ll look her up. They don’t come apart easily.”

“Marcus is perfectly welcome to join us. We just don’t want to break up the old gang!”

Charlene laughed. “I’ll try and drag them over. But I will be there with or without. It’s your wine—I’ll bring dessert.”

“Sounds good. Make it second eight?”

“With a grin on.” Charlene walked away.

Gardul used the pitchfork again, straitened up the hole in the pile and patted it down with his hands.

He shouldered the implement and carried it back to the tool shed, put it away.

He emerged from the roadside shed.

Lunchtime and the workers came in for their break.

Gardul went to his locker, got his scrimmage ball—red—and carried it to the dining area.

This was an open-sided shed. One of the chuck wagons was parked alongside a line of service tables loaded with the packaged meals they were still eating; there was a huge bowl of salad—the first crops harvested.

Gardul ate lightly and tossed most of his meal into the compost, then took a third helping of the salad. He was an athlete and kept a critical eye on his eating habits. He relentlessly balanced caloric intake against calories burned. The scrimmage ball factored into the formula as a tool for burning those calories—including anticipated wine calories.

He kicked the ball around on a mowed strip between fields, other workers joined, somebody brought a green ball and a pick-up game began—two pieces of broken irrigation pipe, set vertically, delineated the goal.

After the game Gardul carried his ball back to the lockers, the possessor of the green ball fell alongside. Achen was a head shorter than Gardul and had a skin tone half as dark, the sweep of black hair was identical on both scalps.

Achen: “Nice game. Did you see Ruben make that goal?”

“He’s got a good power kick.”

“His right knee works like a catapult. As good as a pro.”

“There’s some real talent in the colony. We should organize a league.”

“So I’ve been saying. I talked with Sikar, Lucy, Karma, and the other Ruben already. And they’ve been talking.”

“Everybody likes scrimmage.”

“Not my sister. She says it’s too violent.”

“Pardon me.”

“It’s all right. But how do we organize teams? We’re all one group—where are the rivalries?”

“Dormitory blocks… ”

“That’s not fair. Some buildings are full of athletes.”

“Half the buildings are east of the road and half are west.”

“East versus west? That’s clever.”

“North south, too. Use Community Hall as the boundary.”

“Good, good. Now I have an idea. I’m charged with this. I’m going to talk tonight to every athlete I can find.”

“Talk about other sports, too. So we can include people like your sister.”

“I like your thinking. Suthra will appreciate it.”

At the lockers they separated, put away their scrimmage balls and went back to their different tasks.

Week 17

Sikar Orinitus was in a bad mood. “Are you playing that violin now?”

Kaila had the instrument halfway from the case. “I always practice after dinner—you know that.”

“Of course I know that! I have to hear it all the time!”

“It’s only for an hour. Take a walk, it’s good for your blood pressure.”

Sikar made a voiceless snarl.

Gardul spoke up: “Come on, Sikar. We all share the space, huh? And anyway, the sports meeting is starting soon. We should go.”

The grumpy man stood up from his seat on the sofa in the common room. He tossed one more nasty look toward Kaila and went for his coat.

Two dozen colonists assembled in Community Hall, more than would fit in the conference room. Folding chairs in a circle on the dance floor brought the heads together.

Gardul didn’t want to sit with Sikar; fortunately the angry man saw his brother in the crowd and went to him. Gardul lingered near Achen, engaged conversation and they sat together.

Lucy chaired. “I’m encouraged by this turnout,” she announced. “I see at least three teams in this room. How do we pick them out?”

“Let’s start with team captains,” Sikar suggested.

“What do you propose? That we take a vote?”

“Yeah. First let’s see who is interested.”

“Okay. Everybody who believes they are a good squad leader raise their hand.”

All but three people in the circle raised a hand.

“Too many,” Lucy said arbitrarily.

“I nominate you, Lucy,” Chilperic—lean, with a military hair-cut.

“I second it,” his wife, Christina Strachwits, followed.

“Thank you. I didn’t even think of me.”

“You’re a leader.”

“I nominate Ruben Lythum,” Karma shouted. Ruben was one of the three that didn’t raise a hand.

“Seconded,” said the Ruben with no last name.

“I don’t know,” Ruben Lythum said. “I’ve never coached before.”

“Neither have I,” Lucy responded.

“I don’t know if I can make the time. I’ll try!”

Achen: “I nominate Gardul.”

Ruben Lythum: “Seconded.”

Sikar: “Can he do that? He’s a Captain.”

The meeting almost came to a premature conclusion at this point. The discussion of possible conflict-of-interest, or of favoritism, dragged into a circle of conflicting/reinforcing opinions. No useful business happened for another hour.

They settled on two teams; under Lucy and Ruben. The meeting also reviewed locations for a regulation sized playing field. A flat meadow below the Biology Hut proved an excellent choice—convenient, it only required a good series of mowing to make a smooth surface, and a steep adjoining slope was natural bleachers with a sky-high view.

Tentatively, they scheduled an exhibition game for three weeks later.

A committee formed—Achen, Gardul, Karma, and they conscripted Suthra, she didn’t know until her brother informed her—to poll the colony and determine other sports; games without as aggressive a format as scrimmage.

Week 21

Amelia Mucetti had played on Ruben’s team, and Amadou Sangare had played on Lucy’s team, he was a key member of the squad. Both Captains agreed they needed to postpone the initial scrimmage match.

But one week gave enough time to reorganize; the game went on, dedicated in honor of the lost athletes.

It was good for morale; Ediza replaced Amelia, Marcus substituted for Amadou. Each scored a goal and the game tied: 1-1. After two scoreless overtime rounds they stopped playing on account of darkness, and exhaustion. None of the players made it in for work the next day, all were abed with bruised, cramped, and knotted bones.

Week 23

          A small assembly in the quarters of Lucy Haines:

          “Whiskey?” Lucy offered to the Administrator.

          “No thanks, I don’t drink.”

          “Right, I forgot. Sorry. Anything then?”

          Homer sat uncomfortably in the bedside chair. “Nothing.”

          “As long you have the bottle out—I’ll take some,” said one Sikar Orinitus, a long-time business associate of their host. He sat on the foot of Lucy’s bed.

          “Me too,” Kaila Flexer, the violinist, said. Her perch was the waist of Lucy’s bed.

Lucy stood near the head, and her bar was the night table. She poured three tumblers, putting a decent slug in each, passed two of them around and sat down with the third.

“To Cardomon,” she urged.

“To Cardomon,” the drinkers replied and touched glasses, then tossed the beverages into their throats.

Homer nodded agreement with the feeling. “Why did you ask me here?”

Sikar, “Business, Homer. We want to hire you.”

“You do? What are you planning?”

“Homes,” Lucy said. ”We found a place we would like to build cabins on.”

“That’s a bold move. Let me guess—this is in response to the Mucettis declaring a homestead.”

“We should have the same privilege,” Sikar argued.

“Fair enough.”

“I read through the General Plan carefully,” Kaila said. “And the Articles of Incorporation; I helped write both documents. There is a clear injunction against claiming commercial and agricultural land before the entire colony is awake, but modest residential lots are allowed. It specifies a formal registration process.”

Lucy: “We went last week and surveyed a site. It’s east of the road and a couple miles up from town. We cleared brush and set corner stakes for a dozen lots—we are speaking for a few people. Don’t you get feeling jammed in these dormitories? I know a bunch of folks that do.”

“Everytime I practice somebody complains about the noise,” Kaila complained.

“Like me,” Sikar said and made a lopsided smile.

Homer smiled, he had progressively relaxed during the talk that covered a familiar position. “Okay, I’m interested. Maybe we’d better go to the site and you can show me your plans.”

One week later:

“We’re going to call the neighborhood ‘Newton’. Like there’s Firstown, then the New-Town and we compress it—Newton,” Lucy explained as they strolled up a gentle slope. A small forest of hardwoods arched their boughs high overhead. “We picked a dozen trees for cutting and that should yield enough timber and let the sunshine in.”

“Then you’re talking log cabins?”

“Frame and boards, Homer, even insulation. Just like real homes. Owen Sanchez has saws and wood dressing equipment. His wife does the work ‘cause of his arm. They’re already hired. Start cutting next week.”

“Rough hewn frontier look? Could be a tourist sight in another generation. I’ll stake a lot for the gift shop.”

Lucy rocked out a hearty laugh. “Exactly what Jolrae said!”

“Is he in Newton? I already have the plan of his super dream house for when his family is awake.”

Sikar, laughed. “We know that house, Homer. That is the only thing he likes to talk about. Did you know he studied architecture and engineering for two years just so he could design that one house?”

“He told me.”

“We’re gonna make him draw the plans for our cabins.”

“That big house will go someplace else,” Lucy said. “Won’t fit this neighborhood. He’ll have a little wooden box—like the rest of us.”

A week later:

Homer worked with Peter, and a builder’s level, getting the corner elevations. The Administrator squinted through the telescope, his assistant held a story-board and moved a pointer up or down at Homer’s direction. Behind him Owen Sanchez and his wife, Ishkaharma Cahilla (‘Karma’) felled trees the old fashioned way—with an axe and hand saws.

Loss of an arm didn’t crimp Sanchez all that much. He couldn’t swing an axe, but his left hand was good for saws. He scrambled up tree trunks and dropped the limbs unimpeded. Karma worked the axes, mauls and adzes, did the fine splitting, shaping and planing. All day long the hill echoed with chops and grinds.

The surveyors finished one cabin site, Homer folded the tripod legs and carried his level to the next one. He set it up and fiddled with the adjustment screws until it was good and plumb.

He backed up, moved toward the eyepiece and bent his knees. A figure approached him from the side. “Howdy, boss.”

Homer straitened up. “Jody. Haven’t seen much of you lately.” He glanced toward Peter, Karma and Owen—all near enough to jump in, if necessary.

Jody saw the defensiveness. “It’s okay, boss. I’m not using hooch these days.”

“All right. What brings you around?”

The smile was too eager. “Last cabin in this row is for me. I want to make sure you guys don’t mess up the job.”

“Sounds good.”

“Lucy hired me for the crew.”

Homer took a cigar from his breast pocket and unwrapped it.

“I’m pitching a tent tonight so I can be here and work all the time.”

Lighter flared up and a smoke filled the space between the men.

Homer built up a good head of fumes. “Okay. You can finish here today. I need to talk with Sanchez—he’s got a job for me.”

“The technology is ancient and foolproof,” the timber worker explained. “As long as the creek runs. Direct the water into a narrow channel where you’ve engineered a decent fall—ten feet is good. The drop gets some gravity force going and at the bottom there’s an impeller that the water turns, so we catch the force as mechanical action and spin up a heavy flywheel. There’s how we power the reciprocating bandsaw. I had one in the backwoods on Calico and most of the pieces are on the Prairie Schooner.”

Homer was used to talking to the one-armed man by now but the regrowing limb remained a disturbing sight. It was still tiny, covered by a stretchy, sock-bandage saturated with medications. The medication regulator was a small square box atop his shoulder. Electrodes inside of the wrapping stimulated the developing tissues; the bandage twitched and quivered in an unsettling manner. A nerve block in place until the new limb was ready for exercise meant that Owen didn’t feel the action at all.

“The biggest challenge I see is the location,” Homer remarked. “That’s a long ways to pack tools and equipment on foot.”

“We got those carts from the job-site. The big ones pull five-hundred pounds. And there’s a groomed trail the entire way. With Davey and Paul helping. I see moving the whole works in four weeks of humping—it’s the going back without a load that bugs me. I hate wasted energy.”

Week 36

Around the table in the back room of Community Hall:

Mellisa’s hair was pulled back, tied with a black ribbon, a bundle of paper notes lay in front of her, backed up by her mug. Eleven faces surrounded her. “I’ve talked with all of you individually; it’s time to assemble a single class. You each bring different interests and skills to the group; now we get to share them. As a class I want to emphasize the services we will give the colony. For a beginning, I want you all to learn first aid and trauma medicine. I can’t be everywhere, and with the fungus to worry about, it is imperative, if people have accidents, that they get urgent treatment. We also need to spend time on child-care and pediatric medicine. There’s going to be a lot of babies from what I hear women tell me.

“Those are the basic objectives I have in starting a class at this time, but I hope we inspire each other and open doors of inquiry. You’re all acquainted to some extent, some more than others. Why don’t we go around the group and make introductions; and tell each other a little of your interests in joining a class.”

          Tall and dark, lean and loose, the natural form of an athlete, of the acrobatic rather than the heavy-weight sort, and mellow amber eyes: “I’m Gardul Brahnahaupt and I’m here with my wife, Kaila. She’s best friends with Synoveh, that goes for me too!

          “I’m interested in the children, and teaching. I want our kids to grow up together—in a small community it makes sense that all the children feel integrated. This is an ideal situation, we’re starting with no kids, before cliques and rivalries form, and we have a chance to bind the kids in a single family. Maybe we can develop a society without the senseless conflict you see everywhere. I’m sure it’s just a wishful dream, but it might be possible and I want to work for that.”

          “Thank you Gardul. Yours is the attitude I most favor. This business of starting a colony is about futures and possibilities; about children and their inheritance. Harmony is a fine legacy. Next?”

          Adjoining Gardul, on the right, tall, wavy blonde, hearty shoulders and slender waist, eyes like blue diamonds: “I’m Kaila Flexer and Gardul is my husband. He mentioned that I’m Synoveh’s friend—her co-conspirator in violin music. And Charlene’s, and Patty’s friend—we went to school together and organized the colony—and we drink wine together!

          “I’m interested in science, in natural systems, and I have an ambition for service to the community. I don’t know yet just how, but I see myself as a public officer—maybe an educator. I’m in the class to expose myself to possibilities, maybe I will discover my real calling here.”

          The physician smiled at her new student. “We’ll keep you busy, no fail. Lot’s of room for another scientist.” Her eyes moved to the next figure.

“I’m Achen Menenderos.” Short, wiry, olive skin, restless motion, dark brown eyes. “I heard about the class while talking with Gardul. We work together at the farm and play scrimmage. I’m from Paskenta—nobody’s ever heard of it. My parents were teachers.

“I joined a colony to be an explorer and to learn a world from the beginning. I believe in rearing kids, I want at least one, some day. I feel like I need to finish my training—and I’m still looking for a partner!”

The assembled class all laughed and there was a tinny echo from the ceiling.

“I think this conference room is too sterile and I hate a space without windows,” Mellisa griped. “But it’s what we have available. We’ll take a walk later. Thank you, Achen. You seem loaded with enthusiasm, that’s good for the group.”

The next in line: “I’m Synoveh Greyn—my baby comes out in five more months! That’s why I’m here. Mel’s my friend and she teaches me about this evolution I’m host to. She’s very exciting!

“It won’t be long before there are other women like me. I want to take what I learn and help them along. We can share resources and make life easier for everybody.”

“Good, Synoveh. I didn’t want to be the only birth coach.”

“I’m Marcus Greyn. I’m having a baby with Synoveh. I’m here for her.

“Mel says she doesn’t like this room and neither do I. Our plan says the kids will go to school here but I think we can do better. I work with Peter and he’s crazy for Mel… ”

Everybody tittered.

“…and we got the notion we can make a school. We need to pick a site and find the materials.”

“Thank you, Marcus. And for your informations, those who need to know; if you wish to find me—I make myself available to you on an unrestricted basis, and if you are looking and I’m not in the clinic or Charlene’s lab… well… I am likely to be with Peter, at his treehouse. It’s true; I have no shame.” She smiled.

They all chuckled again.

Next over, female, medium height, close crop of black hair, heavy mass of muscles. “Brenda is my name. I don’t much remember my parents—they put me in the streets when I was a kid. My education was the kind that teaches you how to steal. How to get through a fight in a jail cell.

“I’m lucky to be here. I love Mel, and I know the Mucetti’s; and they’re talking about a family I can be in—that’s why I’m here.”

“Thank you, Brenda. You have taught me a lot already. We’re from the same planet—Brahe—but I never knew the existence she went through. I held no clue. Who’s next?”

“I’m Ediza Mucetti… ”

“I’m Luenda Mucetti.”

“We study nature… ”

“And wish to emulate it.”

“We’re here to learn the planet that holds our Sister’s bones.”

“We’re here to found a society of freedom.”

“Thank you. My ideals exactly.” Her attention moved along.

“I’m Naomi Mukourji. I am not a member of the class but a resource for it. I am a skilled researcher and know where to find information. I’ve got connections with every major archive in the Galaxy.”

“I’m Charlene Hanson. Mel pulled me into this to teach chemistry and genetics and stuff.”

“Paul Timmond. I’m Charlene’s assistant and Mel has taught me lot of basic medicine already.”

“And you all know me, Mellisa Shannon. I have never taught formally, but I have endured many a lesson. If I begin to bore any of you, please use courtesy toward your classmates and kill me before I do any damage.”

That brought a good round of laughter.

“I don’t have a specific research agenda. There is the fungus study, of course. And I am extremely curious about the frequent earthquakes. There must be geological instruments on the Prairie Schooner; I would like to gather data on the matter. You can always study the ecosystem, that’s my passion. In fact, if I’m not in town, not with Peter—like when he’s drinking—you’ll probably find me in the marsh studying birds and plants. Actually, you won’t find me—it’s a mess out there. Don’t try, I don’t want anybody getting lost!”

Week 44

The top level of Peter’s treehouse was for stargazing and sex. Just a platform, safety rail, and a mattress with room for two; the occasional three.

Mellisa liked it.

Third level was bad weather bedroom, and space for larger love affairs.

Second level: kitchen/dining.

First level, just a few steps off of the ground, was a large party room for music making.

Tonight’s band: Synoveh—violin, Mellisa—flute, Peter—guitar, vocals, Marcus—bass, vocals, Naomi—backup vocals, random rhythmic fills.

An hour of fun, then a break.

Marcus, to Mellisa: “Did you look at it?”

“Peter showed me this afternoon. I like it. The creek is musical.”

“Room for a lot of cabins there. Better than Newton.”

Peter: “They got th’ view.”

Marcus: “Creeks are better, and when there’s kids… Splash and skip stones; keep the view.”

The physician smiled and looked at Synoveh. “How are you doing tonight? Is it kicking?”

“Baby likes music—he goes calm when we play. Your flute is really soothing.”

“Interesting. I never heard that before. It only makes sense.”

“Come around more, please. Kid gets feisty otherwise.”

Mellisa bubbled out a laugh. “I’ll keep a flute in my bag, alongside the speculum! Better for my patients than medications, I’m sure.”

Everybody chuckled.

A week later:

A summer monsoon brings moisture from the distant sea, it stacks up against the mountains and breeds thunderstorms.

They had fun in the morning; class members and expecting mothers—Synoveh, Patricia, Brenda, Ludora, and Odetta—plus a few stray volunteers. They cleared a site for three cabins, leveled the soil and cut down eight trees.

Karma brought her tools and demonstrated the arts of rail splitting and log dressing. Gardul excelled at the tasks, Marcus’s huge shoulders felt at ease, Luenda and Ediza made a team, and Achen swung to it with abandon.

The first clouds appeared at lunch time, it got dark and cold in mid-afternoon. Erratic gusts arose. Then it rained; thunder boomed.

Over-eager on the first day, they refused to quit, stood under a canvas shelter and hoped to wait it out.

The shelter had no sides; they got soaked.

Week 52

One standard year after landing:

The pioneer colonists were mostly skilled construction workers, but after erecting a town they were farm laborers. Clean up from the volcano put them back in construction mode, briefly. Then, return to the farms. Labor was surplus, people worked three days of the week, free hands turned to crafts and enterprise; plus the business of making cabins.

Inspired by Homestead; a full-time community, a dozen colonists ate at the Hearth each night; and inspired by Newton; another dozen settlers in tidy new homes, people moved out of the dormitories. Firstown sprawled for five miles along the road.

Synoveh worked the duration of her pregnancy. Toiled in the fields until the seventh month and labored with cabin building until the day before she gave birth. At the farms she started to work on the chuckwagon in the final weeks.

She had a quick labor, her water broke while she bussed the lunch tables.

Ruben hastily cleared a table, put fresh towels over it and Synoveh lay down.

He radioed for Mellisa but received no response.

Gardul and Achen took over at Synoveh’s side; Ruben sprinted toward town.

No complications, no pain; her conditioned athletic body pushed naturally, out into the world, a boy: Luvin Greyn, six pounds, three ounces.

Gardul cut the cord.

Mellisa arrived, she hobbled a bit and carried her staff, but came at a trot.

Synoveh sat with Luvin on her breast. Her eyes were tired, but her face was bright and joyful.

Week 58

In the lab:

The investigation of an unknown organism—cardomonas Sangare—involves different aspects: biology, ecology, pathology.

The basic goal: understand the process of morbidity, find a means to arrest it.

They cultured the fungus, experimented with media and grew it in a variety of hosts, plant and animal. The preferred substrate turned out to be human skin cells, from Charlene’s earlobe.

Deplete nutrients for the substrate and the cultured fungus erupts into the sporous discs.

Paul discovered that immersing a culture in water halts the process and the fungus dies.

Using this technique they observed fungus outbreaks in minute detail. A rapidly growing thallus absorbs a culture in seconds, always decays to purple spores. First, threads of hyphae spread throughout the culture, intersections of the tangled hyphae become growing nodes, overlapping nodes form a lumpy mass, the lumps arrange as wavy parallel ridges, like fingerprints, then differentiate into rows of disks rising on edge; it grows until the entire culture is consumed.

Water used to drown a culture stained purple and thickened. Mellisa examined it; the chemistry inspired her herbology training.

She turned to the thallus, examined its composition; a complex stew of alkaloids similar to dozens she was familiar with—mostly in psychopharmacology.

She speculated the effects of smoking it in her pipe but chose another avenue; experimented with various solvents and returned to plain water. With gentle massage the thallus material dissolved into thick, frothy purple scum. Kept aerated and steeped in full sunlight the scum became thin syrup; a melange of psychedelic precursors full of living fungus culture.

Hesitant, intrigued; push/pull… one week… She didn’t tell anybody; reviewed the chemistry, once, twice, and a third time; concluded it was safe. But an unknown mind-drug is a bold step.

Hesitant, intrigued; push/pull… two weeks… The first batch spoiled, turned brown, slimy and sulfurous… and the second batch. She called herself a coward.

Mellisa drew the curtains on another beautiful day.

She sat in her big office chair with a pint of the new drug on the desk. Stared at it, craved the data but demurred from the experiment.

Hesitant, intrigued; she played flute, ignored her tease.

Hesitant, no more; she lifted the bottle, pulled the stopper: one gulp of a drink. Bland taste; plain bread with a trace of soil; gummy consistency that she washed out with water.

Empty flask to desktop, joined by her feet. Mellisa picked up her flute.

Another hour of idle music, nothing happened.

Drowsy, she napped. Ordinary sleep, no dreams of note.

Awake in early afternoon, disappointed. Conclusion: the experiment failed.

The wise master learns from her students:

Charlene arrived for lunch, carried a basket with fresh salad, snap-beans, pickled eggplant, and melons.

Cabin builders broke from tasks and gathered around a fire circle; they had a roasted dish of native grain and spices.

While they ate Mellisa explained her recent experiment.

Paul responded first: “That was foolish Mel. Didn’t you train us never to conduct this kind of experiment unsupervised?”

“I did, and I should have followed my own lessons. But this research is personal for me—I wasn’t ready to share.”

“Why not?”

“Vanity, of course. I’m often accused of pridefulness and I do believe I am guilty. This field of study is my private domain—has been. I never invented my own drug before.”

Achen: “What was your mood when you took it?”

“Relaxed, receptive.”

“Nervous?”

“A little, but not to distraction.”

“Had you been drinking tea, or smoking?”

“No, I didn’t want any other drugs to interfere.”

“You are certain there were no affects? Did you do blood tests, check brain chemistry and function?”

“No; no, no, and no. My observations are entirely subjective. I didn’t feel anything. Do I appear, or act, differently?”

“No, you’re still Mel,” Charlene said.

Smiles, nods and agreeable chuckles showed general concurrence with the remark.

Synoveh: “Why do you think it had no affect?” Two-week old Luvin attended class, riding a sling over her left shoulder.

“I don’t know. The chemistry says ‘potent’ but the experience… ”

“What do you want from us?” Kaila asked.

“Ideas—your perspectives.”

“You’re the expert.”

Mellisa smiled. “Well-read amateur.”

“Do another trial,” Gardul suggested.

Paul: “Under proper conditions. Supervised.”

Mellisa: “Exactly my notion. I have another batch of it.”

“When?”

“Why not tomorrow?”

They all accepted.

“I should stand back this time. Give one of you a chance at the honor.”

Achen: “What kind of experience do you anticipate?”

“I don’t know. A different vantage on consciousness.”

“You want volunteers? I’ll go.”

Everyone spoke at once, all but Brenda, Synoveh, and Charlene offered to be the test subject.

They blindfolded Charlene and walked in a circle around her, three times, she twirled oppositely, then reached out randomly and grabbed a forearm—Paul’s.

The class reconvened the following morning.

Down in the hollow, beside the fire ring. A brisk summer/fall morning; breeze flickered loose hair.

A seat on the flat ground, where the tents stood back in the first spring. Paul centered a circle. “I’m ready,” he smiled.

Mellisa removed a flask from her shoulder bag. “Talk to us, as much as you can. Let us know your experience.”

He took the bottle and drank from it. “Yuck, I need water. Tastes like medicine for sheep!”

Titters and smiles.

Charlene gave him a drink.

“I guess we have a little time. You don’t know how soon I will notice?”

“No. Maybe never, like me. Expect a quarter of an hour for it to get through your digestive system. Then it depends on how your blood and your brain respond.”

“So what do we do meanwhile?”

Kaila: “Talk… ”

Gardul: “You mean gossip.”

A wife shouldn’t make a look that dirty at her husband; only Gardul, and Achen, noticed. “Anyway,” Kaila continued. “Do people see what I see with Jody?”

Brenda: “Like what?”

“Like he’s sneaking drinks again.”

“No. He swore so hard… ”

“That’s not gossip,” the physician said. “That’s public health news.”

Marcus: “It isn’t really news. Peter told me Jody shows up at the still-house once in a while; gets plastered. Ever since the volcano.”

“Once in a while?”

Kaila: “Like every week. His cabin is next door to ours. I hear him—yelling in the middle of the dark. I think he’s very angry with Homer.”

“Poor Jody… ”

“Save some pity for me! I have to listen.”

Mellisa smiled. “I love you too, Kaila.”

Brenda: “Is Homer looking for anybody yet?”

Gardul: “Not that he tells me. He’s still confused and feeling weak—not reaching out.”

“Poor Homer.”

Kaila: “Yeah, I agree.” She repressed a giggle: “What if Jody gets drunk one night, loses his way and stumbles into Lucy’s bed by accident? And what if they discover true love?” Kaila made a rude hand gesture for sexual intercourse. “Wouldn’t that be funny!”

A good disrespectful laugh all around.

Another ten minutes of similar conversation.

Paul nodded, looked dreamy. “Mel! I think I’m falling asleep. Should I resist it?”

“No—go with your feelings.”

“Okay… ” He stretched lengthwise and closed his eyes.

The others chattered on, but their attention was on Paul.

He slept calmly for another short time, the vigil drifted.

Paul’s flesh turned purple in an instant, puffed up and burst his clothes. The skin ruptured and a mass of purple disks grew from within. It crumbled to purple dust upon exposure to air.

Paul was gone.

Luenda screamed, then Ediza shrieked.

Mellisa stared, wordless.

Charlene caught her breath, closed her eyes, restrained a painful moan.

Achen squeezed Gardul’s forearm.

Kaila acted like a scientist. She went to the pile of dust, collected samples, noted every detail.

Marcus, Synoveh, Brenda, and Gardul simply cried.

Baby Luvin had a happy morning, he enjoyed movement.

Two days later, an inquest:

Science committee chair Jolrae Dorn, the oldest colonist, forty-seven standard years; bronze, with springy white hair, a thin hooked nose, and bold chin accented by a close beard, a narrow line along the jaw; he spoke: “We have written reports, and oral testimony; such forensic data as are available. Before we adjourn to deliberate; let us follow the background thinking a little more. That’s why we have both of you, the senior scientists, for this part of the proceedings. Enlighten us: what exactly was the purpose of this experiment?”

Mellisa: “The drug I discovered has significant psychotherapeutic potential. A human subject test was required.”

Charlene edged an uncomfortable glance at the physician, kept silent.

Committee member Sikar Orinitus saw the look. “Ms. Hanson: do you agree?”

Still uncomfortable: “…It is a psychoactive drug, yes… that’s true, or, that’s what we expected… ”

“You hesitate and pick your words carefully; are you being evasive?”

“No! I just don’t remember Mel describing the drug as ‘therapeutic’; only psychoactive. I thought the experiment was pure exploration.”

Sikar turned stern eyes on Mellisa. “Is that the case?”

She stared directly back. “The investigation of mental frontiers has application in therapy—yes. It is in a class of treatments I refer to as ‘consciousness releasing’. Not just drugs, other therapies: meditation, fasts, exercise regimes, ecstatic music and dance, extreme sex, sensory deprivation, and wilderness isolation; these are all techniques for attaining this.”

“Explain ‘consciousness releasing’. If you can.”

“Our minds have convoluted texture, layers and sublayers, outliers; think of a dense head of cabbage. Some textures, leaves of certain flavor, maybe; they mesh into consciousness. The locus of vision, balance, awareness, memory, logic and emotion; ego. That’s us, awake, functioning ‘normally’. Inside wrapped up hidden is most of our mind, the autonomous part.

“Consciousness releasing techniques expose the hidden mind; they open avenues of self awareness, and control. That’s where we look for therapeutic functions. Literature on the topic precedes the standard calendar and recognized history.

“Human subject tests are the only way to explore this frontier. We try to control for every foreseeable hazard. I failed; I am as horrified by this as anybody. I don’t know what happened to Paul. I will find out.”

“Very noble. This experiment was peripheral to the fungus investigation?”

“I found the drug as a derivative of that study. This research was strictly myself and the class.”

“My understanding is that your science is supposed to be directed at eradicating this hazardous organism.”

“My work aims to understand and control Cardomonas. It’s likely Cardomonas will prove more beneficial than dangerous.”

“You’ve said that before. Some of us feel that reveals a disturbing attitude.”

          “I’m sorry you think so. I only follow my education and my instincts.”

          “That didn’t help Paul. When will we see these so called beneficial affects of the fungus?"

          “Maybe already. We know that Cardomonas forms mycorrhizal associations with plant roots, Paul discovered that. It is our hypothesis that is the factor that boosted the harvests.”

          Sikar turned to Charlene, “Is this so?”

          “It is. We haven’t been able to test it yet. Paul and I were designing an experiment.”

“How unfortunate.” Sikar looked at his committee mates. “I’ve heard enough.”

Third panelist was Aloise Spencer; long turquoise hair and shadows, golden jewelry and accents; big eyes, small chin, pale flesh. “Ms. Hanson; do you concur that this was an appropriate experiment?”

She dodged, “It seemed safe.”

          “But was it valid science?”

          “I’m not an expert in herbology, but I thought so.”

          Aloise nodded, but asked no more questions.

Jolrae: “We have, I think, all the basic information. I have one further background question.” He addressed Mellisa: “You’ve been brought before the colony three times now over matters of discipline; you must admit that’s a troubling pattern. Many of us call you ‘Doctor’, or ‘Doc’, but you tell us that your credential is incomplete. You have alluded to an episode of deadly violence in your past. Perhaps this is the moment for you to expound on this history. It could deepen our understanding of your methods.”

Mellisa looked at him, but avoided his eyes. “No, I don’t think so. It’s not relevant in this matter. I will say that I did once kill three persons while acting in self defense.”

Disappointed, Jolrae scowled. “There are no more questions. The committee will deliberate the matter and bring our findings to a full meeting next week. This hearing is adjourned.”

Rainy, breezy; a turn of the seasons day. The colony assembled in Community Hall.

The committee sat on stage with their legs hidden by a trestle table.

Lucy presided. She introduced the committee, then gave the floor to Jolrae.

He spent fifteen minutes explaining the details.

At last: “Our finding is that the death of Paul Timmond was accidental. However, we also find that a series of negligent actions precipitated this accident. We do hold that our chief medical officer, Mellisa Shannon, acted recklessly; she needlessly endangered Paul’s life.

“In light of these facts, this committee has drawn up a series of recommendations to put to the community.

”First: we strongly urge the science team to direct the investigation of the fungus Cardomonas solely on controlling and eliminating the fungus.

“Second: that all explorations of the supposed psychotherapeutic drug derived from the fungus terminate immediately.

“And third: because this tragic accident occurred in the context of a self-selected science class; and in light of the advent of children in the colony and the responsibilities that entails; we recommend that another committee be established to develop an education system for the colony. In the meanwhile we urge that this class cease operating as such. However we do commend its members for their initiative and hope that they continue their studies independently.”

Mellisa was in the front row, she rose to her feet. “You can’t break up the class!”

Lucy: “Please sit down. You’re out of order.”

Gardul stood up. “Mel is right. Our class is vital!”

Lucy: “Gardul… ”

Kaila tugged on his elbow and he went back down; the physician remained on her feet.

Achen stood up. “We’re going to teach your children!”

Brenda stood up next to Achen. “I won’t quit the class!”

Lucy: “Please… please… Everybody!”

Quiet reclaimed the air. People sat down.

Lucy: “You all will get your chance. Let’s try to proceed in a deliberate manner. We have three recommendations from the committee. Let’s take them in order.

“The first recommendation: we direct the science toward the goal of eliminating the deadly fungus Cardomonas… ”

Mellisa shouted: “Science doesn’t follow policy decisions! You can’t order up results like a restaurant!”

“Mellisa, please. Let’s maintain order. The question is not about policy, it’s simply of emphasis. We know that this fungus kills—managing that hazard must be priority. Is there anything even to discuss? I’d like a vote—maybe we can move on.”

Mellisa was silent, the crowd anticipated.

Lucy: “Okay then. Jody, would you be so kind; print ballots again?”

To his feet. “Sure boss.” He started for the back room; a printer in the office space.

“Wait. Let’s put the first two suggestions on one ballot—they’re linked.”

Jody sat again.

Lucy: “Do we need discussion of the second recommendation? It’s a simple directive. Stop using the fungus drug. What are some opinions?”

A woman raised her hand; Lucy pointed at her. She stood up. “I’m Erin Koip and I’m just an ordinary colonist—I do my work and I don’t get into trouble. Keep it plain; I always say. Drug experiments like this; they twist people’s heads, it can make them crazy! Maybe in fancy universities they do these things; but this is the frontier. We don’t need this so-called science, we only need hard work. Is there anything more we want to hear?”

She sat down.

Lucy: “Thank you Erin. Anybody else?”

No raised hands.

“Okay. Let’s vote. Jody, please. Two questions for the ballot: first, focus the science on controlling the deadly fungus—yes, or no; and second, stop experimenting with the drug—also yes, or no.”

Jody went to the back room.

Lucy: “I suggest that while we are waiting that we can begin discussing the third recommendation. There is a lot to consider.” She saw a hand raised in the crowd, pointed to the man attached to it. “Yes?”

He stood up; lean, short, reddish with dark spikes of hair. “I’m Marinovo Chong, from Hesperia. I’m real concerned. This looks like the colony is going out of control. Nobody obeys the rules anymore; if you asked me. Laws and respect for authority are the rudiments of an orderly society. This sort of chaos is what you expect when people run free without a restraining hand. We need to set up a committee and organize for Law and Order. That’s what I think people should be talking about.”

Lucy: “That’s a very useful suggestion. But I fear the issues already on the agenda will monopolize our time. Can we bring this matter up again, at another meeting?”

Marinovo: “It should be soon. We need more discipline—like back at the Academy.”

Lucy: “Personally, I agree. Let’s see if we can get together on this later, please. If we can stay focussed… ”

Jody returned as Marinovo sat down.

The ballots circulated quickly; Jody, Lucy, and Homer moved about, distributed the papers and re-collected them without sitting down.

They used the front of the stage for a desk, counted the ballots.

Five minutes: Lucy faced the crowd. “Okay! It’s tallied! Quiet please… On the first recommendation: to direct the science, the count is one hundred and seventy-eight ‘yes’ votes, seventy-three ‘no’ votes, nine blank ballots, and two with ‘yes’ and ‘no’ checked—jokers.

“On the proposal to ban further practice with the fungus drug: we tally one hundred and ninety-four ‘yes’ votes, fifty-nine ‘no’s, and nine blanks.

“Both recommendations pass. Now for the third proposal: an education committee; and a review of the status of the existing science class. I tried to move us to this issue; I hope no one felt dictated to. But I feared this will be a difficult exchange; I wanted to reserve most of the time for this matter.”

Charlene raised her hand. Lucy gave her the nod.

The biologist stood. “Before we go telling Mel and her students that they can’t have a class; I wanted to point out some details. I hope that you all remember that it was the class which organized rescue and first aid after the eruption. Each member is a skilled emergency medic. They are a mother’s-helper corps. There’s only one baby now—that’s gonna change; Patty and Brenda are due in the next couple months and I know at least eight other expecting women.”

Synoveh stood up, Luvin nursed. “Yes, Lucy, I’m out of order. But I need to add to what Charlene just said; chastise me later. You all know me; you all have heard me talk about babies and school and a Children’s Hospice; I have gone after all of you. But I’ll repeat myself and make it official.

“Me, Patty, Brenda, Odetta, and Ludora; the first Mothers. We got together and made our own committee weeks ago, we work with Mel. It’s not just obstetrics and baby care. We’re building cabins, a shelter for nursing Mothers and a depot for babysitting. Mel is gonna live there; our full-time medic. Gardul, Achen, and Naomi are already working on day-care plans. No Mother is gonna be stuck alone with her kids; we’re there to support and help. We call it the Children’s Hospice. It’s on a site about a mile past Newton. Come and see, the invitation is for all! That’s what the class is about; that’s why you mustn’t dissolve it.”

Gardul rose as Synoveh sat, spoke before Lucy could act. ““I ask you , friends and neighbors, please don’t break up our class. We made a mistake—a bad one—but it won’t happen again. As a group we work together and teach each other; we learn far more than if we studied independently. We are an asset to the community, building knowledge and skills for our future. Trust us, let us continue; let us learn, grow, and teach. We will pay you back that trust in full and more. Let this class become our Academy, we’ll teach your children and teach them well.”

Lucy yelled, “Let’s follow some procedures, people! Let me see hands—if you want to speak; raise a hand.”

Gardul sat, Achen raised a hand.

Marinovo also raised a hand; Lucy pointed to him.

Up to his feet. “We need all these things; teachers and baby watchers and first aid are important. It’s nice these people are so eager to help; but their association with this Doctor, and her reckless behavior; that raises doubt for me. We need to keep her under control, and having a trail of students worship her every word is no way to discipline her!”

Achen stood without a nod: “We are not a cult! The class is discipline; science is a rigorous endeavor!”

Lucy: “Achen, will you please wait your turn.”

He resumed his seat.

Lucy: “There are in fact two proposals within the one recommendation; education committee, and dissolve the class. Why don’t we break those off, work them separately.”

The crowd seemed to accept the reasonable suggestion.

But they bickered: composition of a committee, jurisdiction, agenda, and guiding philosophy.

Two hours, and people were tired.

Dinner break. Lucy didn’t want them to leave, feared many wouldn’t return.

Justified.

The meeting stalled another half-hour while Gardul, Achen, Chilperic and Karma—ad hoc deputies—ran through the town in search of stragglers. They pulled in ten of thirty absentees. None of them were happy.

Frustrated colonists demanded a quick vote.

Naomi had recorded all of the debate and kept a roster of candidates for the committee. With Jody and Jolrae, she retired to the back room and made ballots.

A dozen candidates for a five seat board; three proposals: 1, the committee be responsible for education policy and curriculum development; 2, the committee be responsible for oversight and discipline of educators; 3, Mellisa’s class be under the direct supervision of the committee, prohibited from convening without a committee member, or Charlene, or Homer, present.

Vote.

Tally.

Report: “Jolrae Dorn got two hundred and three votes, Sikar Orinitus received one hundred and seventy-nine, Erin Koip, one hundred and fifty-eight, Naomi Mukourji got one hundred and fifty-two, and Ruben, with no last name, polled one hundred thirty nine. And, conveniently enough, those are the only candidates to garner a majority.

“So much for a committee. Furthermore; the three proposals all gained solid majorities. The first pulled in one hundred and ninety-one votes—pass; the second took one hundred and seventy-five—pass; and the third received one hundred and thirty-four votes—pass.

“It’s long past dessert hour, and I know that Homer wants to go outside and have a cigar… ”

Laughs went through the room.

“Is there any other business?”

Nobody dared make a sound.

“Meeting is adjourned. Go light up, Homer.”

The Administrator stood and stretched. “As a matter of fact; I ran out of them two weeks ago.”

Behind them the audience exited rapidly.

Lucy: “How awful for you.”

“I think I’ll build a greenhouse. Maybe I can make my own.”

“Good luck.”

Week 75

A snowflake landed on Ediza’s bare arm. She brushed it away and looked upward. The clouds were dazzling, and out from them tiny white tufts fell. Nearby hills had a powdery crown, the overcast shut out any further views.

Ediza’s front side faced the fire and was warm; the rest of her body shivered.

“We need a roof,” Luenda said. She sat next to Ediza, they were in front of the Hearth. Luenda had considered the prospect of bad weather earlier, when they set out from their cabin, and she dressed more heavily, in her leather jacket and a long fur scarf. She balled up her hands in the tails of the scarf.

The day started crystal clear and icy, the Mucettis went on a prowl for the morning and kept hot blood thumping through their veins. The clouds gathered in early afternoon, just as the Sister’s energy hit the ebb.

“It didn’t get this cold on Dayron,” Ediza observed. “I’m not used to it.”

It was Ruben Lythum’s turn to tend the fire and he sat on the stones atop a pile of skins with a heavy fur robe draped over his shoulders. “I have an idea for a shelter. I’ve been thinking about it since the fall—remember that thunderstorm in the middle of the night? We all stood around drenched and miserable?”

“All the breakfast food got soaked too,” Luenda remembered. “No fire, or tea, or food… Yeah I remember.”

“If we get a real storm you will recall that as a pleasant morning. Imagine six inches of that snow, and winds blowing it into your face.”

Ediza shivered. “We’re not ready for that.”

“I been thinking about this. I have a plan; we need some heavy timbers. It will take every hand we’ve got in Homestead, but we can put up a Hall. My idea is a five-sided building contiguous with the five sides of the Hearth. Get the muscles together and we can do it in a week’s time.”

“Owen and Karma have been chopping wood for the Townies. Let’s get them to find our logs.”

“I’ve already talked to them. They love the idea.”

Owen’s right arm came to the bottom of his ribs, it was pale, with a raw looking pink color, a coating of hormonal ointment gave it an oily cast.

He sat on the examination bench, waited.

Mellisa entered via the door to the lab. She had an unhappy expression. “You’re drinking again, Owen. I see it in your blood. You shouldn’t hide this from me. You know that alcohol interferes with the process, the new nerve won’t be as responsive.”

He grunted. “Damn nerve is responding already—fucking itches! And then it burns! Booze helps. Your pills and rubs don’t.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be more sorry if I put all this effort into your arm and it fails; and you’ll be the sorriest, living with it—numb, clumsy. Might have to cut it off and start anew.”

He threw cold mean eyes at her face. “I’ll kill you if you try to cut my arm off again.”

“You’d be dead if I hadn’t.”

“Yeah. You’re my hero. I should cut your fucking arm off. See what kind of doctor you are then.”

She returned the cold eyes. “The basic treatment is done, Mr. Sanchez. What remains is follow-through medication and physical therapy. You don’t need my assistance with that. I will arrange delivery for the drugs—pick them up at the Hearth. You can do your own physical therapy. I won’t tolerate your abusive attitude. Put on your shirt and leave my clinic; you are no longer my patient.”

“Hah!” he said and bounded to his feet. He advanced toward the physician, reached with his left hand.

Mellisa backed away.

Sanchez continued toward her.

Her right hand went to the hip, under her jacket. It returned with a knife, long and sharp. “Stop there, Mr. Sanchez.”

Wisely, he did.

“Leave. Don’t return.”

Wisely, he obeyed.

Five one-foot logs, thirty-five feet long, cradled in forked limbs dug deeply into the top of the little mesa. The outer ends were mounted ten feet off of the ground, mid-beam supports pitched the roof angle and the logs converged over the chimney, joined by a pentagonal frame of roughly squared blocks, leaving a two-foot wide smoke hole twenty feet above the floor.

Construction took six weeks; the weather graciously refrained from serious outbursts. Four weeks went into locating the timbers, and a week was required to haul them from their sites. The major challenge was obtaining the ten forked supports. For days people explored the woods looking for a crotch of the exact dimensions; so wide to receive the logs, at such an angle for the roof pitch, and this long for a good footing.

All of Homestead—sixty colonists—participated. They came from their gardens, camps and mines and bivouacked near the pond. A community fair emerged. Crafters and traders put up their tents and bartering was the sideshow; musicians showed off and swapped licks; chefs demonstrated an expanding native cuisine—two hundred native plants, animals and fungi complemented their diet and medicine.

Across the log frame they lay down planks every four feet. The Mucettis hunted relentlessly during the construction and worked late into the nights stitching a rawhide weather cover. Pickets of sapling poles filled the walls; one opening faced the pond, a second portal looked to the ravines behind the little mesa.

The Homestead community clustered near the Hearth under the finished Hall. The Sisters had their drums, played a soft fingertip purr.

Ediza addressed the gathering. “It’s gonna be a big party tomorrow.”

Luenda: “Firstown will come out; Brenda, Synoveh and Patty are bringing the entire Hospice—all the babies!”

Ediza: “This is our time to demonstrate the vigor of Homestead.”

Luenda: “Tonight it is just us.”

“The center of the family.”

“We Mucettis were raised in a village.”

“A place of hard working people.”

“Simple and honest.”

“Practitioners of every sort.”

“Exactly as we find today.”

“In this community.
“At this Hearth.”

“In this Hall.”

“This is the new village for us.”

The Sisters spoke in unison: “It is a warm night at the Hearth and the Village shelters, out of the storms; we are fortunate.”

“We are fortunate,” the crowd chanted in response.

Ruben Lythum spoke: “This Hall is the Home of Homestead. We all made it, we sleep in it, have festive dinners for the entire family. Nobody is unwelcome—except those disrespectful few; the violent, the drunk, the liar, the thief. We give no hospitality there.”

Karita Kaukonnen, a soap maker with a remote camp in the mountains on the far shore of the river: “We establish this household in the spirit of love; in the spirit of harmony. This will be a Hall full of music and song.”

The Mucettis howled and beat thunder from the drums.

Others in the Hall picked up the energy. Drums and flutes, guitars, a banjo, more voices. Ululation, singing, line dances, stories tall and short; dice rollers staked out one corner.

All night long.

A perfect alignment: gold moon, first quarter—rising prosperity; red moon, full—a heart full and pure; blue moon, last quarter—sorrows on the wane. The winter stars crowned the midnight sky and the summer star was lost in the sun, signifiers in nature of the turn from dormancy to growth; a new year approaches, the omen of hope and fertility. A single card: one dozen red roses—another sign of pure heart, and of enduring love.

The astrologer—Taralisa Rhine—proclaimed the auspices favorable and promised the future community a hearty life, not without its pains, but also full of true richness and with a nurturing family, a family of peers.

She cut a green rope and blew one note on a silver horn.

The Hall was open.

Week 95

An early morning pep talk:

Jody’s blue apron had flour all over it, he leaned against the butcher block with a cup of tea in his hands—the strong dark blend. “Thanks, bosses; thanks for being here. I literally wouldn’t be able to do it without you guys. I know we worked this in drills for the last month and we think we got it ready; but this is the real thing now. Anything can happen, especially with logistics as complex as this.

“Everybody is going to be having a good time and you’re serving it! Be friendly, stay in the spirit, but don’t get too involved—you have a job to do. Serve the wine, don’t drink it; enjoy the music as you go by, but, sorry, no time for you to stop and dance. Next week I have a different crew and you can play, not today.

“I’ve been up since the summer stars, loaded both of the chuck wagons in the dark and cooked ever since. Let’s get the lunch out to the site; I’m coming back to take a nap and then start dinner.”

There were containers of hot food they ferried to the catering tractors. Gardul and Achen were the head waiters for lunch, Achen’s sister Suthra assisted, and Firstown resident Victoria Spivey.

After the food was stored in a hot storage bin they all got aboard one tractor and set off, the second tractor followed under automatic control.

It was brilliant mid-morning on a day destined for balminess, a cloudless sky adorned with a billion birds and the mildest of the freshest of breeze. The crew rode on the catwalk and enjoyed the passing vistas.

The tractors followed the new spaceport road—an extension of the road to the farms. It skirted the east edge of a marsh and then traversed a range of sandstone hills, winding through narrow canyons. On the far side of the hills the road continued around the perimeter of the wetlands with a wide loop north, west, then south; the designated landing site was directly west of the hills.

The hills were the grounds for a landing party, to precede the welcome party scheduled for the evening.

At the spine of the sandstone hills the tractors departed the road and turned west on an ungraded trail. The track led to a summit, a broad hill with a gentle west face. The tractors stopped.

A few colonists were already out, cameras on tripods stood awaiting the spectacle from the sky. Further west, a mile into the view, a staked line of red ribbons across the foreground marked a five-mile safety radius from the landing site.

The caterers hopped from their chuck wagon and began to lay out the lunch spread. Awning, a row of tables, food warmers, food chillers, urns of coffee, juice, tea, and iced water. A separate setting served wine and beer.

Jody preferred to not watch people get drunk without him; he returned to Firstown with Victoria. They loaded additional supplies and she rode the tractor back to the celebration.

Jody went to the back room of Community Hall and lay down on the couch that adjoined a narrow end of the long conference table, closed his eyes for a well-earned nap.

Tractors ferried colonists from town, parked along the edge of the road and people milled over the hills, strolled the trail; Victoria had to operate her tractor manually. The machine crept back to the party and she parked it in line with the other, creating an alley behind the tables where the servers worked, sheltered from the grabbers.

Thirteen hundred hours: lunch in an hour, at noon; but the alcohol distribution started. Four steel barrels offered a lager, a bock, a red wine and a white. Colonists lined up.

Many had already toasted the occasion with their personal supply, many were on their second or third drink. Others had distilled spirits.

Charlene and Naomi strolled away from the crowd, the biologist led the way. They followed the narrow crest of a ridge at the edge of the hills, west toward the red ribbons, up and down a series of short rises.

They looked short now; the last time she passed this way Charlene was on hands and knees wallowing in hot ash; the slopes weren’t short then.

A rim of boulders hedged a summit.

“This is the spot,” Charlene said. “And right about the same time of day. It was a nice day—just like this.” She looked northeast at hills that screened from view a still smoking volcano. “Our tractor was parked near where the food is. That was the longest trip I’ve ever made!”

Naomi tittered. “Except traveling to Cardomon.” She took pictures from the little hill, turning for a full panorama; she ushered Charlene around the circle out of the views.

They returned to the picnic.

Two hours after lunch: The combination of sunshine and alcohol lay many colonists down. Wise souls brought parasols or other shades, the less foresighted clumped together in sparse shelter under the scattered trees. The lunch awning covered a dozen snoozing celebrants.

The waiters patrolled the crowd. They carried bottles of cool water and watched for people in hazardous situations; mostly asleep in the hot sun. Victoria and Suthra picketed the ribbon line and stopped dozens from going in to the unsafe range.

By agreement, all the children were at the Hospice and supervised by the Mucettis, Brenda, Mellisa and Peter.

All of the children but one: a general public decree demanded that the firstborn child be on hand to greet the colony’s first visitors.

Marcus and Synoveh spent most of the party trying to avoid it. The sun, the noise, and the strange location put Luvin in an unsettled mood. He cried and fussed, bawled and threw away his toys; he was clearly angry.

They sheltered in the space between the food tractors, Homer joined them but got restless and helped the safety patrol, too. Charlene and Naomi stayed and kept company.

Two more hours before the landing.

The empty barrels got loaded away and the servers brewed up a fresh round of coffee and tea.

Reanimated colonists got back on their feet, some people kicked a scrimmage ball around the area until it fell into a steep narrow ravine nobody wanted to climb into.

One more hour.

Personal supplies of alcohol reemerged, some drunks were still sleeping off the earlier round.

Colonists arranged into viewing positions, sitting on the west face of the hill.

They anticipated. Bottles raised, caffeine mugs, too.

A hiss came from the sky, it grew louder and gained some bass, becoming a distant roar. Coming nearer, getting louder, the air vibrated, skin tingled.

A trail of white vapor appeared in the sky, high over the southwest horizon. It spiraled toward them, counterclockwise, and the roar was even louder, peaking a minute after the contrail passed directly overhead. It disappeared behind the northern mountains; reappeared after another few minutes. It came from the northeast now and when it was overhead they saw the silhouette of the vessel against the sky.

It circled the southern horizon.

Braking engines fired and the noise redoubled. People covered their ears. Luvin cried at the top of his lungs, unheard, even by Synoveh.

Dark smoke mixed with the vapors, the object arched downward, a boil and churn of rocket blast rolled over the marsh. The smoky wave broke against the base of the sandstone hills.

Silence reigned for half a minute before the spectators realized it was time to cheer. Then they stood, jumped, hollered, and drank.

The clouds parted and revealed the spaceship. A gleaming yellow spire rose out of a circle of black silo-shaped pods. Even at six miles distance, it towered.

The crowd rushed toward the parked tractors and the servers waited for the disorder to clear from their path. The tables, awning, and beverage containers loaded quickly. The musicians helped. Kaila had a dance band for the night’s entertainment who needed to dress and warm-up; they joined the servers and rode back to the Community Hall.

Colonists swarmed over the vehicles, jammed the cabs and catwalks; people rode on the ladders, the roofs, and the equipment hitch at the rear. Automatic controls kept the ride from being a disaster.

Forty-five minutes later the tractors drew up near the vessel of Delevan Glatz—the Golden Hoard.

A reception committee: Homer, Lucy, Jolrae, Charlene, Synoveh, and Luvin occupied the cab of the lead tractor. They waited for the deck to clear and went out to a ladder, clambered down.

The cargo bin in the tractor’s waist contained gifts.

The colonists arrayed to see the guests, some looked up and tried to find the top of the ship.

The ship’s crew were on display in a parade ground formation, uniforms with black trousers, gray jackets, brass buttons and gold braid.

Spirited marches broadcast from speakers, the reception committee approached a small group of dignitaries that stood ahead of the block formation.

At the center of the party of officers stood Delevan Glatz; tall, stout and bewhiskered, strutting with obvious prosperity. His exquisitely tailored uniform moved with his skin; he wore blue for the black and brown for the gray, his buttons were gold and diamonds flashed in the braiding.

There were welcomes and handshakes, the exchange of gifts—Glatz presented a bouquet of his own, as well as fifteen cases of fine liqueur from Brahe. The visitors kissed Luvin’s cheek, he screamed in protest. Bringing two aides, Glatz joined the escort and they all went to the cab of the lead tractor. They rode into Firstown for the banquet.

Delevan Glatz and his companions sat in three of the seats, Synoveh and Luvin took the fourth; the boy still cried at full voice.

“Hello… ” the visitor seated opposite said to the squalling baby, smiled right into his face. “Hello, hello, hello… ” He snapped his fingers lightly and rubbed them in a peculiar way. The unusual motions distracted Luvin’s eyes, caught his attention and he forgot what he was crying about. Quiet filled the tractor cab. Luvin dozed off.

“That’s amazing,” Synoveh gushed. “How did you do that?”

“People trust me, even babies,” the visitor said. “I used to be in politics. I’m Arrolon Stemple—of the Planetary Foundation—my title is Development Coordinator. I’m traveling courtesy of Mr. Glatz, I came here to observe the situation in your colony.”

He had patrician white curls, a sharp gaze, lean face with angular cheekbones.

“I’m Synoveh. And this guy is Luvin; he’s the very first!”

“And how many are there?”

“I’ve lost count! At least a dozen.”

Jolrae stood in the adjacent doorway, he braced against bumps with hands grabbing the door frame. “I think half the female colonists are expecting.”

Arrolon gestured toward Luvin. “Are you the father?”

“Oh no—I had a boy, he died, volcano. In hyber-sleep.”

“I’m terribly sorry. That was a calamitous blow you suffered. I suppose most colonists lost friends and relations.”

“Yeah. All we have are memories. Sharing trauma welds us. The first days were tough, but we helped each other. Living together in dormitories, collective dinners and work… Enough activity to lose some time. And after a couple of months there was perspective—even big things recede when they get far away. Once the volcano joined the background of memories, life got easier to face.”

Arrolon nodded with empathy.

On the other side of the tractor’s cab Charlene, Homer, and Lucy rode leaning their butts against the glass wall, every bump or lurch mashed them all together; Homer was in the center and received most of the impact.

Delevan Glatz and the third traveler sat facing each other.

Glatz spoke after Luvin went quiet: “I haven’t been inside of one of these tractors since I was a kid. I’m prone to motion sickness, please keep the speed down.”

Lucy guffawed rather rudely. “Sorry—not laughing at you, Mr. Glatz. Just the tractor; it has only one speed: ‘slow’.”

Laughter filled the passenger side of the cab.

“Please introduce your associates,” Homer asked.

Still laughing, Glatz pointed at Arrolon. “He’s not an associate, he’s a hitchhiker!”

The man seated opposite Glatz spoke: “My name is Fredegar. I am Mr. Glatz’s executive secretary.” He was extremely plain, medium height, steady bland eyes of watery gray, receding hair trimmed to a fuzz, face as smooth as a child’s.

Outside on the catwalk a dozen colonists crowded the walls for a look at the visitors.

After an hour’s ride they drew up at the Community Hall. The reception committee ushered the gawkers off of the catwalk before escorting the visitors to the ground.

Dinner awaited inside.

The guests of honor shared a table with the reception committee and  a few other colonists. Glatz was positioned between Lucy and Kaila.

The band leader was done up for a night of festivity. Her spangled stage costume had décolletage cut to her solar plexus; a hemline halfway up her derriere. Her anatomy filled the intervening space with serpentine form.

Glatz was impressed. More so when he learned Kaila was a musician.

“Fascinating,” the merchant said. “I’m an aficionado; I wish I could play an instrument. I have a personal band aboard the Golden Hoard. And I own several entertainment companies with markets across the Galaxy. Couple dozen top stars are under my contracts—they’re making a bundle!”

Kaila gave her warmest smile. “How marvelous for them!”

Beneath the table his hand fell upon her thigh.

She made her smile warmer, put her hand atop his and stroked it. “Yes; music is my deepest passion.” Her tongue tip wet her lips and she blinked childishly. She heaved her copious bosom. “It transports me like no other sensation.” Kaila’s diamond brilliant eyes held Glatz’s dull reddish orbs in a private space.

Glatz noticed Kaila’s eyes and returned the stare, faintly smiling.

On Kaila’s right side Gardul looked on over his wife’s shoulder; he noticed both pairs of eyes.

At dinner Arrolon sat between Patricia and Charlene.

Patricia: “We’ve always been real good friends—back to school days. We designed the colony, kind of; that’s what our school was all about. And we both lost our husbands in the volcano… Sometimes I drink a lot when I’m unhappy, like sad for losing Jerry,” some thought brought a quiver of humor to her cheeks. “But then, I used to get mad at him and go drinking when he was alive!” She giggled. “But I was pregnant—just learned I had Precious Rose with me and an expecting woman can’t drink!” She made an emphatic head shake and sipped from her wine glass. “So I went and cried with Charlene and made her be sober with me—our friend Kaila wouldn’t cooperate though.” She glanced across the table to the band leader. “We hugged, and remembered our guys. Then we took the empty lot across from the Biology Hut and started planting flowers and trees—it’s for everybody, not just our men—Memory Garden.”

Charlene: “It has a plant or a bed in honor of every lost colonist. I had an assistant, Paul. There was an accident, an experiment went awry and he died from infection. I planted an oak—quercus Lobata—I always thought of him as sturdy, and sprawling—a wide open mind.”

“That’s very touching. I want to see it.”

“We’ll show you in the daylight,” Charlene said.

After dinner the women stopped in the Lady’s Lounge.

Patricia: “Did my eyes go weird or was Kaila just about to get on her knees and service Mr. Glatz under the table?”

Curious ears turned their direction.

“They were definitely connecting. Let’s not gossip.”

“Excuse me for noticing—I just wonder what Gardul is thinking.”

After dinner, Gardul’s duties as server put him on the bussing team. While most diners milled in the foyer with the wine the KP swirled over the dance floor and cleared away the tables in a practiced routine.

Gardul saw Kaila and Glatz go into the back room adjoining the kitchen; the back room with the long conference table and the couch.

Half an hour later Gardul observed Glatz emerge, alone; he was adjusting his trousers.

Achen was also on KP, he approached Gardul’s side. “If you’re looking for Kaila I saw her go to the Lady’s Lounge a moment ago. Her hair was a mess.”

“Do you know why?”

“Everybody at the table knows why. They weren’t very subtle.”

“No, they weren’t.”

“Hey—we’re still working here. We can talk while scrubbing the pots.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Five minutes after that Kaila’s band went on stage and the dancing began.

Arrolon danced with Patricia (“call me ‘Patty’”), then with Charlene, Patricia again, Lucy, Achen, Patricia, Charlene, Stacey (Wear), and Stephanie (DuPris). In between he drank eight glasses of the native wine. The first crushings were immature, very tannic and a little too sweet; but the connoisseur found potential in it. All-in-all, he was having a splendid time.

Glatz drank wine and watched the band, focussed on the leader. He stood at the edge of the stage and admired the view under her short skirt; she presented the vista to her best advantage—his too. He only left the position when he needed to refill his glass or use the Men’s Lounge.

Kaila visited him during intermissions. She failed to take the stage for the third set. Nobody could find her, the band played on without the leader and featured instrumentalist. They all played extended solos.

Delevan Glatz was nowhere around during the third set either.

Conversation while closing up the Community Hall:

“You don’t want to go home; she will show up sooner or later. Do you want to face her?”

“Yeah I do. But maybe I shouldn’t when I’m this mad… Don’t vows mean anything to her?”

“Now you know.”

“Now I know all right. Caught it in time; we’ve been starting to talk about kids of our own. Cut that idea at the root!”

“Don’t go home. Sleep on my couch; we’ll share a bottle of wine and you can talk.”

“I ought to sleep in your bed! Make you happy for a change. You’re a good friend—the best.”

Achen’s smile was rueful. “Not tonight. I would feel like a vulture. After you’ve had some time to get through the shock—maybe tomorrow… ”

“I should at least find out what she has to say for herself.”

 

End

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