Cardomon-the beginning

FIRST TESTAMENT

MELLISA SHANNON

a history and a tragedy

By Taralisa Rhine

as transcribed by her devoted student: Bobol

CHAPTER ONE

Dreamless slumber ended with the sound of a flute, distant, melodious. She felt delicious internal heat throughout, like she was energy. Diffused orange light filtered through her eyelids; skin tingled, sensed still air upon bare surface. She lay on her back, awake but unaware; no memories, no identity, and no purpose—only being. She was a life with no focus—a sentient mushroom.

            She smelled food and remembered hunger; it reminded her that existence required action. She stirred, stretched and arched her backbone.

Eyes opened, gentle light; confusion, uncoordinated shapes, unknown colors. She strained details: a ceiling network of pipes and conduits; recessed lamps cast indirect light and mysterious shadows. She lay in a box—a sort of coffin—with an open lid. It occurred to her that she had been asleep for a long long time.

And still the flute song played.

Hunger kept at her; she had to rise. She grabbed the topsides of the box and pulled herself erect. Motion brought dizziness and nausea; she almost fell back onto her mattress. But she held on, took a deep breath, closed her eyes in a grim effort of will.

The unbalanced feeling passed and she lifted her head; looked around. A long broad room; dimly lit with rows of boxes identical to hers. A minority were open; naked people sat upright in them. Other people stood shakily upon the floor, some even had robes over their skin.

She looked across to the next row, a man sat opposite; his eyes were confused, his face a little troubled, but she knew his name was Paul.

The hunger talked again, churned inside her, refused any leisure. She swung her legs up and over the low sidewall of her box, one at a time. Then stood upon the floor, naked and chilled.

The next step was unclear, she wanted clothes, saw none. But found a cubbyhole beneath the box. Within: a folded white robe and a pair of sandals. All was a perfect fit; stitched across the left breast was a name—Charlene Hanson—another perfect fit.

She surveyed the room again, looking for a clue. Some of the people filed out through an archway in a far wall.

She realized that food odors emanated from that direction: coffee, baked bread and earthy roasted aromas drew her appetite. “That’s where I need to go.” She moved across to the archway. As she walked she noticed that the flute music was still with her and that it came from ahead.

The archway led into another large room; brightly lit, filled with the delicious scents. A group of fully dressed people stood near the entry, quietly greeted the wakened sleepers urged them to come in and eat.

Several long trestle tables stood in the room, heaped with food and pitchers of drink. A familiar man she didn’t quite recognize came toward her. He had the name ‘Jack’ embroidered on the breast of his jacket.

Jack stood before her, grinned shyly, long arms dangled awkwardly. He tried to speak, stammered out her name a couple of times and then gave up; swallowed her in a deep loving hug. His touch was confident and easy; she liked it, and liked his dark tall firm body.

Finally he let her go and stood back, looked into her eyes. “You don’t remember yet... But you must be starving! We’ve made up a ton of food for you! Sit! Eat!”

He led her to a table, helped her to a seat and served. She was impressed, he seemed to know what she wanted before she asked and ladled out exactly the right portions. Once she got going on the meal he sat next to her and watched. He didn’t speak, and that was all right—she only wanted food. But his quiet presence and familiar eyes jogged her memory. By the time she sipped a final glass of juice she remembered her husband—Jackson Conroy. She put the glass aside and leaned over to give him a kiss. “I love you, Jack.”

“I love you, Charlene. I missed you so much.” They kissed again, more deeply, with arms; held it until they were out of air.

Another look at the people around, now familiar faces. Classmates all, members of a well organized team that had trained together for years. Familiar faces all, save one—a large dark woman sat alone at a side table, she played a wooden flute. Charlene looked at Jack, “Who is that?”

“That’s Mel—she’s the Doctor. Joined us just before launch.”

“Oh really? She plays nice flute—sounds like your music.”

“Yeah, I wrote it. She was the only other musician on the crew. We played together a lot.”

“Did you?”

“Oh, don’t be jealous.”

She laughed, “I’m not. Let’s hear how you play together.”

“Okay.” He stood and went to the flautist’s table. A guitar rested atop and he lifted it, held it to his left ear and tuned. Satisfied, he stepped in front of the dark woman with his fingers on a chord.

Jack played, thumbed a fast rhythm line and picked a counterpoint melody to the flute song.

Their eyes locked upon each other with a wry smile. The woman rose from her seat and moved to his side. She was nearly as tall as him.

The harmony was beautiful, Charlene made tears.

People gathered, danced.

The meal was over and the tables cleared; three hundred newly awakened sleepers sat around them. Some smoked, and a final cup of coffee lingered in many a hand.

A man stepped onto a low stage and called for attention. Against the animated crowd and lively music, no one noticed.

He shouted and stomped on the stage, heads turned, the musicians quit.

He spoke, they listened: “Here we are folks, three years and thousands of billions of miles later. The planet is called Cardomon—we are here and it is ours.”

Wild approval greeted the words. Applause, shrill whistles and enthusiastic shouts.

He let the noise subside. “It’s a nice world and we’ll enjoy beautiful skies. We have three moons and three companion stars; should be spectacular. The orbit is kind of exotic—an exaggerated ellipse, drawn out by those companion stars. Our year is six hundred thirteen days long, with two springs and two summers, but only one fall/winter season. Days are twenty-eight and a quarter standard hours long. There is abundant water and the soil is good. It’s got all we need.”

More cheers and yells. Napkins, chunks of bread and other small items were tossed in lieu of confetti.

            When the tumult finally ebbed, the speaker concluded: “It’s been a pleasure piloting this boat, but the flight crew and I leave it in your hands. You’ve all got a ton of work ahead of you—ours is finished for now. We expect to see a few changes around here when we wake up! Good luck!”

            A final round of applause. He stepped back into the crowd.

 

Charlene pushed away from the table, took to her feet and joined the musicians.

“Mel, this is my wife, Charlene. Charlene, this is Mel—Mellisa, I don’t know if she has a second name.”

“It’s Shannon.” Green eyes, diamond in her right nostril.

            “Jack said you are the new Doctor?”

“Physician, yes. I studied on Brahe, led my class; but, alas, no degree. Just call me ‘Mel’.”

“Okay, Mel. How come you don’t have a degree?”

“I got into trouble; the University expelled me. In the end of my final year, too. Finished courses, labs, interned; I spent two years residence in ob-gyn. I’ve birthed dozens of babies; I love it.”

“What was the trouble?”

Mellisa didn’t speak immediately. With a low, careful voice: “I was drinking with some people, too much. It got out of control and I needed to defend myself; there were fatalities.”

“You killed somebody?”

            “It was not my intention. I was defending myself from sexual assault. It was a difficult situation—I was very drunk, so were my attackers.”

            “And you were blamed?”

“They had to blame somebody, I was the only candidate.”

Charlene felt the conversation getting awkward; simply said, “Okay.”

“But that’s my dark past; we need to talk future. A whole new world.”

“Good that you’re experienced with babies. That’s what colonies are about.”

“Are you and Jack planning?”

Charlene clapped her husband’s back. “Only in abstract, so far. And, of course, I won’t see him for three years.” Jack held his guitar, grinned boyishly, said nothing.

“I’ve got all the facilities—when it’s time. Full genetics lab; I can engineer the perfect child, or will you prefer to go naturally?”

“We share that lab, you know. I was going to design the babies; but I think most colonists will go natural. There’s something exciting about the unknown… ”

“That’s what makes us pioneers—that feeling.” Mellisa had a sweet motherly smile. “I think I like you, Charlene.”

“Thanks. You seem kinda nice, too.”

CHAPTER TWO

            The great ship Prairie Schooner had landed on her one and final shore, beached forever after her mission. She was no abandoned hulk—far from it. She had many purposes: after bringing the immigrants to Cardomon she was to sustain them through their first difficult days. She was life itself for twenty-seven hundred souls in hyber-sleep—an artificial womb, gestating them. For the newly woken pioneers she was granary, fuel depot and scrap mine. Each deck, bulkhead and hatch, the conduits, wires, and the ducting, everything aboard was finished material, precious resources for the colony’s growth.

            The landing site was near the center of a wide plateau above a deep long foothill canyon. A mile upslope of the ship was the shoreline of a circular lake some five miles broad. Waters from the lake exited through a narrow gorge, plunged from the plateau with a massive waterfall. The roar of the falls was a constant backdrop, thrummed the air with a deep bass note.

The lake sat in a caldera and its far shore was a row of rugged cinder cones, taller mountains lay beyond. On the flanks of the Prairie Schooner the plateau merged with craggy bluffs rimming the canyon. It was a rocky, new, landscape with only scattered clumps of vegetation.

            Charlene stood at the top of the broad gangway and considered the view. She wore a blue two-piece zippered outfit and her belt was hung with pouches and field tools; soft blonde hair tied in a tail down to the middle of her back. Around her people bustled in and out of the ship. Outside, colonists began work. Those not yet busy milled about, took first breaths of their new air, first rays of their new sun. They marveled at the sky, admired a fat red moon above the mountains.

Mellisa came up to Charlene from within. Tall and muscular, dark wavy hair to her shoulder blades, a smooth dark, chocolate-milk complexion. Broad face, round, high cheekbones, thick lips, wide squat nose. She entered the sunshine; the diamond on her right nostril flashed rainbow brilliance. Voice: low, husky. “Good morning. Have you been for a walk yet?”

“No, have you?”

“I go out every morning before sunrise. I think I was the first on the ground. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

            “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

            “You’ve never seen mountains?”

            “I’m from the Northern Continent on Hesperia. It’s one big flat plain. Great farmland but no mountains, and I’ve never traveled. Everything is very tame there, no wilderness at all—even the weather is boring.”

            “Then you’ve got a lot to see, don’t you? Let’s take a walk and start exploring.” They strolled down the gangway.

“That’s why I’m out here. I’m supposed to catalogue the native biota.”

“Are you? Let me help. I have a passion for herbology. Every planet explored presents a whole range of new medicinals.”

On the ground, they crossed the landing site. At the rear of the ship a huge pair of clamshell doors stood open. Surveyors had instruments upon tripods. Workers swung axes and mattocks, shoveled, raked; cleared brush and loose rocks from an adjacent staging area. A loud mechanical roar accompanied the start of one of the six-wheeled tractors.

The scientists walked away, toward a rocky mound. In front of them the plateau rose gradually and merged with the rugged bluffs.

The country was basaltic, rocks and boulders atop an old lava flow; difficult footing. Clumps of spiky brush with gray-green needles scattered about; soil in the hollows and recesses wore a thin carpet of grass and a minute vine, tiny yellow flowers.

Passage was slow, the scientists worked.

Charlene took specimens all along the way and attached sample bags to her belt. Each footstep revealed a life form as yet unclassified by science. She deployed her sketchbook.

            Mellisa collected as well, but in an entirely different fashion. She went from plant to plant and sampled leaf, flower, or fungus. She crushed them and inhaled the aromas. A quick nibble, hastily spat out, tested bitter or sweet, earthy or bland. She too had a book for notes and sketches.

At the top of the mound they sat on a boulder. The way ahead began to rise sharply and they discussed a likely path.

A crunch of footsteps approached. “Charlene, wait up!” a voice called.

            Charlene turned around. “It’s Paul.”

            He was tall and thin and his elbows flailed. His hair, brown and shaggy; cheeks, hollow; dark eyes, intense stare. He carried a camera around his neck and his waistband bulged from sample bags. “Howdy.”

            “Mel, you know my assistant, Paul?”

“Yeah. I examined him yesterday. Howdy yourself, have a seat. We’re just figuring the best way up the slope.”

“Looks pretty rugged to me.” He sat between them.

“I’ve done a lot of cross-country hiking,” Mellisa volunteered. “Why don’t I lead the way?”

Charlene: “Is it safe?”

“Sure. Just follow me and take your time. Paul, you up for it?”

“Yeah.”

She picked a careful way up a steep grade. Unconsolidated soil, mostly volcanic ash, slipped underfoot and slid into shoes. Sheer faces avalanched under hands and knees. The morning went warm and sweat flowed. Ledges and outcrops made rests; they admired an expanding view, shook sand from shoes.

            Atop of the bluffs the scene opened up. Beyond lay rolling plains, a dark wall of mountains on the horizon north and east. Spring flowers colored the flatlands; a swelling floral sea waved and rolled; yellow, purple, red. Birds flocked and soared; made chatter and song, caw and coo.

Across the river: another row of bluffs; the further ground rose in a series of hazy terraces, gray horizon merged with sky.

The cylindrical form of the Prairie Schooner lay below, tiny with distance, people were specks. Tractor noise, grunt and snarl, cut over the low roar of the waterfall.

            Charlene had tears, Paul trembled with emotion; used the camera. Mellisa took a topographic map from a shoulder bag, oriented it to the cardinal points.

            A sudden seasick sensation hit, and the ground quaked violently. A dull rumble rose. The hikers sprawled as the planet lurched sideways under their feet. Rockslides mobilized the slope below.

            And then stillness: ground stopped shaking, hills stopped moving. The only sound was the distant waterfall, even the symphony of birds was quiet.

Charlene sat up, looked around. The world appeared the same, except that a huge cloud of dust lifted from below. There was no tractor noise.

Mellisa: “Is everybody all right?”

Paul: “Yeah.”

Charlene: “I’m okay.”

            “There could be injured people,” the physician announced. “I’ve got to check.” She rose to her feet and sprang away; bounded from point to point and quickly vanished beneath the slope.

The earthquake struck, workers near the ship tumbled, a few well-balanced souls surfed the rolling ground.

Homer Blairsden, tall, muscular, tanned; bald top, thin fringe of black hair; Homer kept to his feet. He was Administrator, supervised construction and a General Plan.

His worst vice: cigars; lit one three times a day, on average.

The quake stopped, Homer checked the situation: all clear at the landing site, but silence from the tractors.

Two machines had worked a ways across the lava-cap and cleared the first mile of a road; they were out of view.

Homer wore a headset radio, called.

A minute of silence.

Then, a report: one tractor was stricken, buried in a rockslide; all hands needed.

Homer marshaled the crew nearby; all seized digging tools and ran to the disaster site.

He rushed around the perimeter of the landing zone, dispatched everybody he found. He sought Mellisa, but earlier he saw the physician walk away from the ship with Charlene; now she was needed.

Mellisa appeared, breathless.

            Homer explained the situation to her, she hurried off for her emergency kit. Five minutes later she sprinted down the road. Homer continued to round up workers.

Another ten minutes passed before Charlene and Paul arrived.

Homer was the only person left on site and he was ready to go. He explained the situation and ran for the road.

The two biologists rested a minute, picked up tools and followed; they caught up with Homer before reaching the disaster site.

The tractors had been at the bottom of the bluffs, digging into a stratum of ancient volcanic ash for roadbed material. The tremor dislodged a slab of ash atop one of the machines. After the dust cleared only its rear end protruded from a mound of loose gravel. The broken slope immediately above formed a chute of unstable rock, ready to dump more debris. The prospect of a second slide kept anybody from trying to dig the tractor out.

            The entire crew stood back, holding their implements. The second tractor positioned itself and one operator climbed down. He secured a cable from tractor to tractor. Moved to a safe vantage and signaled the driver to start towing.

The tractor revved its motor and made a monstrous roar. The clutch engaged; the noise grew deeper, louder, vibrated the ground like an aftershock. Four huge drive wheels bit into bedrock. The cable grew taut and the driver nudged the throttle; even greater thunder. The vehicles crept forward a handful of feet.

            The unstable slope gave away. Another semicircle of ash slid down. A cloud of dust boiled over the scene, momentarily cloaked both machines. The driver cut his throttle until it cleared.

            The new slide buried the tractor completely.

Attempted a second tow: motor roared up, gears engaged; drive wheels spun, rocks and soil flew out behind. Another dust cloud rose, grew smoky from burning tire and clutch. The atmosphere reeked of bitter fumes and rattled from the horrendous noise.

The tractors didn’t budge.

            The motor killed and there was an onslaught of silence. Once the clouds dissipated, the driver stepped out onto the catwalk. He shook his head and made an empty-handed gesture. His assistant ran out and disconnected the cable.

            Homer stepped out of the crowd, came up to the tractor’s side. “What do you think, Jody?”

            “No good, boss,” the driver called down. “It ain’t gonna be dragged outta there.”

            “Too bad.” Homer studied the problem. “It looks like all of the loose material has fallen. Can you move that gravel away from the other tractor?”

            “Sure, looks safe now. Let’s get some people on top of it with shovels.”

            Homer called a dozen laborers in. They waded through the loose ash and struggled up the heap. Shovels and buckets scooped pea sized gravel, threw it down the sides.

Jody brought the other tractor around with its earth-moving blade, pushed back the pile’s edges. The mound was huge and ash continually slid down, filled in after Jody cleared.

Gradually the buried tractor emerged. The process took over an hour. The shoveling was exhausting and the crew had to rotate hands.

            At last they cleared the catwalk.

One corner of the cab’s structure was caved-in.

Mellisa climbed up as soon as there was solid footing near the glass-walled cab. With her emergency bag on her shoulders she used a rake, pulled ash away from the sliding door; she finally reached it and it was jammed. A man got down on his knees; bare fingers scraped ash out of the door’s track. Mellisa tried again and it opened.

            The woman in the seat under the caved-in roof was plainly dead; half buried in the ash. Broken sheets of glass and jagged shards of metal tore her to shreds. Her neck had cut through, head twisted to a bizarre angle, sightless eyes stared at a corner of the ceiling behind.

            The tractor’s other occupant still breathed. He lay in his seat, unconscious, with gritty ash heaped up to his knees. A gash tore his right arm open from shoulder to elbow, deep to the bone, and a slab of broken glass was wedged into it. Mellisa knew instantly that she would have to amputate.

            She applied a tourniquet and made a fast cut with a laser scalpel. It was a crude bit of surgery; her clinic aboard ship had facilities to clean it up. With the genetics lab planned for the town she would eventually grow him a new arm.

They used a backboard and carried the victim to the other tractor. He was in shock and needed fluids. Mellisa fretted at the tractor’s slow speed. It took fifteen excruciating minutes but eventually they drew up alongside the Prairie Schooner.

           

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 launched, and marks an auspicious moment.

“She wrote: The Planetary Foundation says our ship, the Prairie Schooner number 17,178, 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 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 group marriage and a huge rambling house with space to have a million babies. Cecile, 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.

CHAPTER THREE

Mellisa rose early, aided by strong tea. A twenty-eight-ish hour day fit her routines.

Morning dark is for walks.

Under the sky; a map of new constellations awaited astrologers. In the east a brilliant star dawned. One of the sun’s three companions, it signified the approach of the warmer half of the year. Gold moon, full, touched western horizon.

Nights on Cardomon are rarely black.

Cool mountain air settled in the canyon, mists formed below the waterfall.

Strong tea, long legs, a runner’s metabolism; she covered a lot of ground.

Brief stops; played flute, smoked herbs, practiced science, or sat motionless in shadows, watched and listened.

When dawn came, she reluctantly turned toward the world of people.

            At the ship, all was astir. Davits lifted heavy bundles of rebar, metal sheathing, and cement; swung them from the stern and onto cargo trailers. Forklifts ferried smaller pallets. A loaded tractor/trailer rolled out and an empty team pulled in. Colonists rode the tractor to work, leaned against the handrails. A dozen more sat atop the load; talked, laughed, sipped hot beverages.

Three weeks into construction, workers bustled at full pace.

Except Mellisa. Busy the first week: she put the flight crew under hyber-sleep and gave each of the pioneers a physical. Three hundred people, in superb condition; no need for a medic.

Even such injuries as occurred; minor events, patched in the field, rarely brought to her attention.

Owen Sanchez, the amputee, recovered from shock and labored one-armed on the project. Regeneration therapy awaited erection of her clinic.

She had not yet even been out to the townsite.

Up the gangway, down the passages, into a shower and then back to Commissary; more tea.

A room abuzz, breakfast and caffeine; colonists hustled a tight choreography.

Mellisa ate; awaited water boil, steeped tea; grainy, fruity cake, solid and chewy.

Mug in hand, she assayed the noisy room, spotted company; Charlene and Paul shared a table and conversation.

She dragged an empty chair to their side and sat. “Good morning!” Sipped, put mug down.

            “Morning.”

            “How was your walk?” Paul asked.

            “Beautiful, as always. It’s an amazing sky we have. That bright star makes the night shine.”

            “That must be nice.”

“Get the morning habit; come out with me tomorrow. I’ll take you around and show you everything.”

A rueful smile: “I confess; I don’t wake up easily, even with coffee. And tomorrow we move the gene bank—big day for me and Charlene. Sorry, no time. Find me on a slow morning—today would have been good.”

The physician gave the young scientist deep eyes. “Too bad; but mornings come every day—we’ll find one.”

Charlene: “I don’t know how you get out there so early.”

“My personal clock,” she grinned, hoisted her tea, drank deeply.

“Well… So long as you get sufficient sleep. You do sleep?”

“In short increments. It accumulates; I think I get as much as anybody. I’m hard to find in the afternoon.” Mellisa mimed a head on a pillow, feigned a snore.

The scientists chuckled.

She continued: “I’ve been doing this as long as I can remember; even as a little girl. We lived on a wooded estate—my family is very wealthy—with bodyguards. I had to sneak past those guys—they weren’t very good at it; always asleep on duty. Nobody caught me.”

More chuckles.

“It’s easy to find solitude in the dark. I craved that, a release from family pressures. The night is haven for some. I’m not alone; you know the Mucetti triplets?”

Charlene: “Of course.”

“I see them most mornings. They return from exploring just around sunrise.”

“Really? Well, I’ve never spoken with them much.”

“I know them,” Paul piped in. “I’m not surprised. They’re rather quiet and prim around people, but then they go off into their personal universe and turn pretty wild. They hunt with bows and arrows. Tan their own leather.”

Mellisa: “Interesting. I’d like to compare wildlife notes with them and hear the predator’s perspective.”

Paul: “What predators? I haven’t seen any—nothing big, at least.”

Mellisa’s nod seconded the observation.

Charlene: “On vacation, naturally. I admit I didn’t even notice; too busy building the lab and no time for the field.”

Paul nodded sympathy for Charlene.

            Mellisa speculated: “Predators regulate populations… if something else operates more efficiently… ”

            Paul/Charlene: “Like what?”

“Just musing—I don’t know… a decay organism, maybe.”

“Another mystery,” Charlene said. “Like all of the earthquakes.”

Paul checked his data tab. “Another one last night while most of us slept: magnitude four point one, epicenter only five miles north, twelve miles deep.”

Charlene: “What’s that mean? Danger?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a geologist.”

Mellisa: “I thought small earthquakes relieved seismic stress. When a fault goes quiet—locked—strain builds up until a big shake unlocks it.”

Paul: “Yeah… ”

Charlene: “Well; we have a ‘quake almost every day. That must be releasing all kinda strain. I guess we’re safe.”

Mellisa and Paul nodded hopeful concurrence.

Silence ensued. Mellisa sipped tea, Paul cleared away breakfast.

Mellisa to Charlene: “What’s your agenda today?”

            “I’ve got a long boring time with a computer, calibrating the environmental controls for the gene bank. Once I finish software installation, Paul and I do a walk-through inspection. If all is well, we move in the tissue storage and incubation modules."

"Today?"

"No, first thing tomorrow; we’ll be all day, maybe longer; use every tractor and every colonist for the entire operation—I’m bossing—and Homer is fretting about his schedule. But it should move easily; it’s modular. And when we're done we close the ceiling on the bank. Seal it up sterile and construct the lab on top of it.”

“You sound organized.”

“I hope so! I don’t expect problems; we’re not doing anything new. We trained for this stuff.”

Paul returned, two coffees in hand; one cup for Charlene. He sat, sipped his.

Mellisa: “You say this is a slow day?”

“For me, yeah. Nothing to do until Charlene finishes.”

            “You can’t help her?”

“Nah, computers aren’t my thing. Entering data… Boring.”

            Charlene: “It’s a solo job. He’s coming out to keep me company. I won’t need him until the inspection.”

            “When is that?”

            “I’m terrible with computers myself. I don’t expect to finish ‘til late in the afternoon.”

The physician smiled, “Good. It’s time I saw this town.” Looked to Paul. “Will you give me a tour?”

“Glad to; but it’s just a construction site; lotta noise and dust. There’s a couple buildings almost finished.”

“That’s something. I’ve looked at our models, I want to see it real—with sky.”

Paul nodded.

She went on: “Maybe we should hike there and get the best perspective."

Paul still nodded, but Charlene cut in: “Its twenty miles, Mel. You don’t want to walk that far.”

            “Why not? I love to hike. And that’s twenty miles by road—ten miles cross-country—check the map. Only a few hours. So long as Paul is up for it.”

He felt goaded: “Don’t worry—I can keep up.”

Charlene looked them over. “You two are crazy. I hope you enjoy the blisters.”

“Those tractors are so slow, we’ll beat you there. When do you leave?”

            Charlene checked the time: “I’m on a tractor scheduled to go in twenty minutes.”

            “Paul? Let’s get a couple daypacks with water and lunch. We’ll meet Charlene by the loading dock and see her off.”

Bemused, Charlene watched them stroll from Commissary.

Homer’s morning cigar usually got wasted, burned away in his fingers while he dealt with business; difficult to smoke and use headset radio simultaneously.

Or argue in person.

Charlene didn’t give him a chance to puff; hovered on his windward beam and explained that Paul was not going to the job-site this morning.

Homer listened, a patient man with an urgent schedule.

Paul and Mellisa approached his command post—a portable desk by the loading dock.

Homer to Paul: "She tells me you're not going. What's up?"

"Nothing, really. Charlene has a task I can't help with, and it will take all day. It's pointless for me to go out there."

"Yeah, that's what she says too. But nobody is supposed to be working alone—it's the buddy system—for safety, you know?"

            "Honestly, Homer," Charlene argued. "My butt is going to be planted in a computer chair all day. Nothing is going to happen to me except that I might fall asleep."

            “And fall out of your chair.” Homer turned back to Paul, "So why don't you want to go out to the town?"

"I want to do field work," Paul lied. "Catalog the indigenous biota while walking there. The Doctor here has graciously volunteered to be my buddy."

Homer's stare turned from Paul to Mellisa and back, a faint smile threatened to erupt at the corners of his mouth. He drew a deep breath, then carefully brought the cigar to his face and puffed, blew big clouds around his head. "Well all right. But you'd better be sure you're out there this afternoon for the inspection—if I don't see two signatures on that report then I don't move your boxes tomorrow." He turned, reached up, switched on headset radio; back to work.

The scientists moved away from noise; positioned to watch the loading.

            "Sorry about that," Charlene said. "Homer can be so fussy. Oh well, that's why we picked him to be Administrator."

Paul: "Nobody else wanted the job."

Charlene tittered: "There's that, too."

“He’s got a point,” Mellisa said. “On a job like this, safety is critical. But it can be overstressed. Cigars signify tension; does he ever relax?"

"He’s very pleasant," Charlene said. "He beds with Jody; and Jody and I like to have a drink together once in a while—he's a really funny guy. But Jody and Homer have two real sweet dogs; they like to hike.”

Paul: “They’re in hyber-sleep; didn’t you notice dogs?”

“No. Hyber-sleep is mostly computer controlled. There’s little I can do if anything goes wrong. I monitor the computers and read a summary—there’s over three thousand bunkers… ”

Paul laughed. “That is so not reassuring! I’m glad you keep a close eye.”

Mellisa stuck her tongue out rudely.

Paul doubled over.

Charlene cut in, "Listen, children, I gotta run and catch my tractor—I'll see you this afternoon." She turned toward the loading dock, walked off.

Paul recouped his composure.

The hikers turned the opposite direction, made for the road.

A wide flat lane with rock spoils off on the shoulder, compacted ash filled gaps.

After a quarter-mile; rumble and vibration from behind; a tractor/trailer team approached.

Stepped aside, let it pass; waved to Charlene up on the catwalk; she rode over the rear wheels, leaned against the railing, waved back.

Dust hovered in the machine’s wake; Paul and Mellisa stood by the road and waited.

Onward.

They hit the grade: the road climbed, a ledge cut into the bluff face; it turned  a switchback every half-mile or so and gained two thousand feet by the top.

Four times they cleared the road for another tractor; four times they waited and breathed dust. A fifth vehicle approached.

Time for cross-country. A couple hundred feet of near-vertical scramble to the top.

Rested: sweat dried, salt crusted collars; drank water. They caught up with breath.

Scientist at work: Paul took out a hand-lens, went to his knees, studied something curious.

Mellisa read a map, found a bearing for town and looked ahead.

Rolling plains, west, into foothills, north; long sinuous ridges, solitary peaks. Hollows and ravines, broad flat bottoms; intricate topography, easy to get lost in.

Bearing: northwest.

Gentle hiking: down from the rim, into a valley and upstream. Knee-high grass, sprawling hardwoods.

They botanized: tiny blue daisies, yellow/red trumpet flowers, catkins burst forth pollen.

Toads and snakes; skittish rodents. Small herds of a large brown grazing quadruped.

Sampled wildlife: most specimens decayed rapidly into fine purple dust.

Rugged hiking: up a ridge, across a rocky top, down; another valley followed.

Boggy, buggy, hemmed by cliffs; they tied shoes atop backpacks, hitched trousers and waded upstream.

The cliffs pinched, dammed in ponds covered with floating yellow flowers, black birds with red-shouldered wings patrolled, brayed alarm at the sight of strangers.

The head of a pond, a small waterfall, no taller than themselves; they stopped for lunch.

Mellisa played flute song with water rhythm.

Paul sat on a nearby rock carpeted in thick spongy moss. Opened backpacks yielded bread, hard sausage, salty cheese, and dried fruit.

She went to his left side; they ate, listened to creek tumble through narrow cleft, splash a mossy pool. Enormous silver insects made a high pitched buzz in the spray, iridescent wings beat at an invisible pace.

They talked of plants and science; geography and geology; herbology, taxonomy, ecology; soils, and climate.

Lunch over, packed away the scraps; hotflask of tea from Mellisa’s pack, Paul demurred.

She sipped. "What brings you to become a colonist?"

"The usual. Opportunities are scarce on Paskenta. A young person can only dream of owning land."

"You're going to be a farmer—like everybody else?"

"I want to raise goats and sheep. I like animals, and I spin wool, and I weave, and make cheese. I've done a little scouting and found some nice pasture in the lower foothills—just a few miles north. In a couple of years—once the colony is built—I'll start a flock."

"This is something you've been dreaming of for years?"

"Since I was a boy. People would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up and I'd say, 'I'm gonna be a cowonist and grow sheeps'" They laughed at his affected boyish voice.

"You left a family behind?"

"My Dad is dead and Mom lives with her brother and his wife. We send holos back and forth to each other and keep in touch. She's doing really well. In fact, I think she's going to get married again.  I have two older brothers but they married and joined other colonies years ago—I haven't heard from them since. Do you have a family?"

"None worth speaking of—I doubt they even miss me."

"They didn’t like you?"

“And I didn’t like them—not that they cared.”

“So you’re a rebel?”

Mellisa laughed. “I certainly am! I opposed everything my family wanted.”

“What did they want?”

“Young ladies from good families are expected to marry young men from good families and forge alliances. We are valued for decorativeness and social graces—qualities I deliberately chose not to cultivate. I made them send me to the University, which is practically unthinkable for women on Brahe. Mother was humiliated—people said she raised a whore.”

“What about your father?”

“I never saw him. Merchant princes spend most of their lives in space. He’s got a dozen wives, probably dropped a thousand kids.”

“You took off and joined a colony to get away?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I’d rather not go into that. I got kicked out of school and had to leave—that’s all you need to know… for now.”

“Well that’s our good fortune. Most colonies don’t have a Doctor at first settlement. Charlene and I were supposed to fill in that role—I wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“No?”

“Sick sheep are pretty nasty, so are people—blood and stools… Yuck. People are a lot harder to deal with. I’d rather clean a barn.”

Mellisa smiled. “I might too—I’ve never done that. Sounds like hard work.”

“Yeah, I like that.”

She put her hand on his. “I like you.”

“Thanks. I like you.”

She kissed him on the lips, lightly. “Let’s relax a little while. Do you want to try an experiment?” Her smile was mischievous.

“Sure. What kind of experiment?”

“An herb I brought from Brahe—a stimulant and a mild euphoriant. It boosts the heart rate and opens the bronchi—great for exercise.”

            “I’ll give it a try.”

From her hip pouch Mellisa extracted a long slender pipe carved out of yellow wood. She undid the top buttons of her blouse, drew out a tiny silk pouch attached to a thin beaded cord. From within came a pinch of herbs; stuffed into the pipe.

Lit it, slowly puffed; closed eyes and concentrated on careful inhalations and exhalations. Her top was still unbuttoned, Paul noticed her well developed bosom expand and contract.

            She handed him the pipe, he took a cautious puff on it. Immediately he was seized by a violent coughing spasm and dropped it.

            “I’m sorry,” she said with a slight laugh. “I guess it’s not very fresh—I brought it all the way from Brahe three years ago. It’s not usually so harsh; wait until I’ve grown some and you’ll see. Are you going to be okay?”

            Paul caught his breath and wiped tears from his eyes. “I’ll be fine—just wasn’t ready for it. Let me try again.” He picked up the pipe and smoked carefully. There were no more eruptions. He felt his heart speed up and his body grew relaxed and comfortable. “This is really nice, thank you.”

            Mellisa nuzzled up close. “My pleasure.”

They were side by side, four legs, one lap. Two hands, one clasp, rested on her thigh, they leaned together, shared balance. It was sultry; buzzing insect sound filled their heads.

She kissed him again. Open wet lips, tongue…

They made love atop the wide flat mossy rock under the naked sun. It was hot, fast, furious, sweaty, breathless; clothing half-removed; their cries and moans joined bird calls, soaring, skyward.

Town spread along the west rim of a flat-topped hill. They saw it from afar, ragged building silhouettes against smooth natural forms; and heard it too: tractor growl, construction clatter, metal-on-metal crashes, urgent shouts.

Up the grassy slope.

Into work zone, threaded between two concrete slabs with rough frame elements taking shape.

A street, the end of the road, a quarter-mile long.

A busy street, construction work, road grading, excavation; noise, dust, fumes.

Buildings; flat slabs, bare walls, empty windows, open roofs.

The goal: house three-hundred colonists in three weeks. Long range goal: house fifteen hundred colonists in another nine months.

Paul led south.

Last lot on the west, the Biology Hut; future live/work space for Charlene, Paul, and Mellisa.

The building consisted solely of a deep concrete walled basement—no roof. Refrigeration apparatus and the gene bank nutrient system filled much of the space.

Around the pit to a ladder and down in, twenty feet below.

A narrow corridor, a rectangular arch in each wall.

Through the right side opening, into a small chamber.

Charlene sat in front of a dormant computer, slumped over the console, asleep. Jody sat next to her, head down on chest; he snored. A small metal flask lay upon his lap.

Mellisa burst out with laughter, Paul kept silent, made a sly smile.

Charlene lifted her head, Jody still snored. "Hello. Do you know the time?" She gave Jody a rude push against the shoulder, his head snapped up but he said nothing.

"Mid-afternoon—four hours till sundown." Mellisa dropped her daypack to the floor.

"Excellent—plenty of time for the inspection."

Jody picked up the empty flask. "It's not like this looks like."

Paul: "How's that?"

"This only holds a quarter pint—we're not drunk."

Mellisa: "Nobody said you were."

"Homer thought Jody could help me get the computer installed. He knows a few shortcuts that saved me hours. We've been done since a little after noon."

"So I said let's relax a bit and bust out my hooch—Charlene didn't have any."

"Don't lie, Jody. We don't need to defend ourselves."

Jody looked from Mellisa to Paul. "I suppose not." He stood up, pocketed the flask, "I should go and see if Homer has any work I need to do," turned and went out.

Paul: "Shall we get on with the inspection?"

"Good idea," Charlene rose, looked at Mellisa, "Want to join us?"

            "I've seen plenty of gene banks at medical school. I think I'll sit here and take a nap."

            "Okay. We won't be long—maybe an hour."

            Charlene and Paul left the room. Mellisa sat at the computer console and leaned back, feet up on the desk, hands folded over her breast; eyes closed, she snored.

The physician awoke to the sound of her name; Paul’s voice: "It's time to go."

Dusk filled the room, the young scientist stood in shadows, his eyes reflected a faint glint.

"How long did I sleep?"

"A few hours."

"Where's Charlene?"

"On a tractor, with Homer and Jody—they're waiting for us. Everybody else has gone back to the Prairie Schooner."

She stood, hefted daypack; Paul’s eyes followed, intent.

Hurried to his side, a quick kiss on the lips, sloppy; then she dashed from the room.

Paul came behind; she hustled up the ladder before he got to the door.

Long shadows, low sun glowed mellow yellow in evening haze.

Birdsong and insect buzz; construction gone silent except a rumble of one idling motor.

Breezes shifted; warm and humid out of lush plains to the west; cool dry northern airs off the mountaintops. Above half-shadowed peaks the twin winter-stars twinkled faintly.

Paul joined the physician, they walked to the street.

The tractor waited, Homer stood at the front rail and puffed a cigar. Charlene was behind, away from smoke, a shawl around her shoulders. Jody stood in the cab.

Paul rattled up the short ladder, joined Charlene.

Mellisa stepped on bottom rung, looked up. “I’d like to stay out here tonight.”

"No way," Homer yelled.

Charlene: "Mel, honey, you'll freeze."

Paul was speechless.

“I’ll shelter in a work shed. I’ve got lots of lunch still in my bag—hot tea. I won’t be too cold.”

Homer: "Nobody stays out here alone."

"Paul can buddy me."

Homer faced the scientist.

Paul shook his head. "No, I can't. We move the gene bank tomorrow."

Mellisa: “Too bad.” A reluctant climb and she moved to Homer’s side, gripped the chest-high rail; the tractor lurched homeward.

Rolled through town.

Homer puffed, enjoyed the afternoon smoke and reviewed a day’s progress; proud of the work.

Fumes irritated Mellisa‘s eyes, she went to the rear deck, in the corner above the right wheels; watched darkness rise.

Deep purple sky, pastel horizon, amber alpenglow; more stars. A new moon, blue, chased the sun.

A good cigar burns to the smoker’s knuckles, gets dropped reluctantly, a heel grinds it dead, shreds it on the catwalk grill; orange sparks cascade.

Homer entered the cab, into heated space.

Automatic controls, a card game in progress over the center console. Jody and Charlene up front, faced Paul. Homer took the vacant rear seat and next hand they dealt him in.

Two deals later, Charlene remarked on the chill. Homer went to the open door, stepped out and called for the physician.

No answer.

He yelled louder.

No answer.

A curse snarled Homer’s lips. He stalked the entire catwalk.

No Mellisa.

A hotflask of tea kept her warm until midnight, aerobic action heated the next couple of hours.

Around the townsite ridge, along the road, past the construction, down the end of the hill.

Flat bottoms, roughly ploughed; soon, the colony’s farms.

She turned away from a marsh, north again.

Back through town, ran a few miles of road and veered to a bald summit; watched gold moon rise, last quarter.

A sight for a serenade. She drew her flute, played.

Five minutes and night chill made her stop.

Moved, south again; cross-country east of the ridge; downstream amid boulders and trees. To the last hill.

Up the easy slope.

Faint scents, burnt wood, smoke; she stopped, puzzled.

Unexpected, possibly hazardous: caution.

Explored with her nose; ahead, the smell arose.

Two bright moons, few trees; with no concealment she crouched low to the slope, braced on hands; crept up the hill.

A false summit exposed a round hollow; quarter-mile wide headwaters of a seasonal stream. The smoke came from within.

A dark shape at the bottom, no trees.

No threats visible; walked upright down a short, gentle slope.

Flat bottom, gravelly; the dark shape evolved.

Three logs, axe hewn, a couple yards long each, a yard diameter.

Triangular array, ten feet across.

In the center: an ankle-height wall of rocks ringed a pile of hot ashes and charred wood, dying embers glowed orange.

A neat stack of firewood lay handy.

A marvel to find. She sat, put down load.

Long stick off of woodpile, poked ashes, stirred.

A cinder shot to the ground near her feet; she crushed it with her toe.

Wind breathed over her spine; shivers.

She built a fire: hot coals plus dry twigs, added logs and awaited the blaze.

Roared up in a timely way; she stood, did a slow dervish dance around a column of heat and smoke.

Warmed, she was hungry. Sat again, ate stale fare without tasting it.

Mesmerized by flames, she smoked a while.

Fire died low; back to the woodpile. Large pieces, small logs, a twisted chunk of burl.

New blaze, more pipe; then she rose, played flute.

A tune that jittered, flickered with the flames; loud pops, bright sparks; percussion, fireworks.

Flames ebbed again.

Mellisa banked coals close to one side, sat adjoining, played a slow piece, lullaby for herself.

Snuggled up to warm rocks, slept.

Dark, chill, fire long dead; she woke. Summer-star in the sky, gray horizon.

Sat up, rubbed eyes.

First voice, low, feminine, stern: "We made a rule."

Second voice, identical, from a different direction: "Nobody starts a fire."

And third voice, still the same: "Unless they gather some wood first."

Simultaneously: "You broke the rule!"

The physician peered into the gloom, saw three forms, female, seated upon the logs. Identical women; braided hair to the hips, tall, muscular, in hand-stitched leather garments, stained dark and wet; silhouette wings over their shoulders metamorphosed into the double arches of crossbows, slung on their backs.

Only one set of triplets in the colony; the Mucetti sisters. The youngest pioneers; refugees from a war she had never heard of.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know about your rule—I was cold."

One: "The rule is only common sense."

Two: "Simple courtesy."

Three: "Anyone would think of it."

In chorus: "One would think!"

"I understand now. It will be light soon, I'll get a huge pile."

"That will do."

"But it had better be good wood."

"Nothing green or rotten."

No chorus.

Expecting, Mellisa waited, then: "Would you please tell me which one you each are—how do I tell you apart?"

"Why do you need to?"

"I am Amelia."

"I am Amelia."

"I am Amelia.”

Mellisa: “Amelia, Ediza, and Luenda; that’s the three of you, correct?”

Silence.

“I get it. You don’t tell. May I ask why?”

Chorus: “It suits our purposes.”

“Which are?”

“Ours, not yours.”

Pale sky emerged, gray, purple wash; dark streaks, cirrus clouds; golden glow behind eastern horizon.

Enough light to puzzle out details, slight differences; a squint in one eye, distinct jewelry, nervous tics—all cosmetic, she speculated, freely interchanged for maximum confusion.

The wet stains on their clothing was blood, the physician realized. “What are you doing out here?”

"It is our campfire."

“We use it each night.”

“We hunt,”

“And cook our meat here.”

“Today, we were walking back to the ship.”

“And saw the firelight from afar.”

“We returned.”

“Afraid the fire got out of control.”

“It might burn the town.”

Chorus: “Why are you here?”

“I was cold,” she repeated.

"We can share the fire."

"If somebody is cold."

"Or they are a friend."

"Am I a friend?"

Chorus: "We do not know."

"We have never had friends."

"But you came to our place."

"There must be a reason."

Chorus: "We like you."

"You do?"

"You told us that you killed somebody once."

"In self defense.”

"We respect that."

“You must be very brave.”

“We admire that.”

“We had an aunt.”

“Angelina.”

“She was brave.”

“She saved us.”

“And taught us many things.”

“But she was killed.”

Chorus: “We have had no family since.”

A moment of silence.

Mellisa watched them watch her; they stared boldly, faces blank.

Then: "You have green eyes."

“Beautiful green eyes.”

"We have always wanted green eyes."

"I can adjust that for you—once the lab is set up."

"We do not modify our genes."

"We are accidental babies."

"Unplanned."

"Nothing adjusted."

"Natural."

"Mother died giving birth to us."

"Father killed himself."

“We honor them.”

“By honoring their genes.”

Another silent stare down.

"It is light enough."

"Go, gather that wood."

"We will build another fire."

"You can play your flute."

"We like it."

"It makes us move."

"We will sing."

“And drum.”

"And dance."

Chorus: "Do you like to make love with women?"

"I do—very much."

"Then you will join us."

"Our flesh,"

"Our love,"

"Our soul."

Mellisa: “I would love that.”

Stiff legs needed brace; she reached a log, drew up alongside a Mucetti knee. She teetered, stretched, bent double.

Stood again, left the fireside. Exited the hollow, leaped tiny creek, bank to bank, zig to zag.

Down the bottoms, creek entered a larger stream; went with the flow.

Found a grassy knoll with a crown of hardwoods and a lightning blasted stump surrounded by scorched shards of tree.

A fine woodpile, much more than she burned.

Loaded a double armful, ran to the fire.

Sunrise behind her, dazzle ahead; green, yellow; tears in the eyes.

The Sisters waited, watched. She stacked the wood and ran for a second load.

Returned to activity: one Sister tended fire, another was gone; number three stood, joined the physician for a final run.

Returned: the fire crackled, two Sisters stood near, a large pink slab in one hand; raw meat.

Onto a flat-topped rock in the center of the fire.

Sizzle; roast flesh aromas.

Ravenous, Mellisa sat and thought about food, and of tea—no caffeine for many hours, she anticipated a headache. Rubbed eyes and temples and found no pain.

Dirty, sweaty, tired, covered in soot; yet good, warm and homey.

Her eyes were teary, the sun too bright. Her balance was slightly off, she moved in lurches.

The meat served up on three wooden platters, rough split; two helpings went onto one and a heap of salad joined them.

Sisters sat, one brought the double portion to Mellisa, they shared.

A simple, quiet breakfast; piece of meat, crisp greens and a sweet chunk of starchy white root.

Good food; the physician sampled cautiously, watched the Sisters munch heartily, decided it must be safe; tore into it.

While they ate, the Sisters held a silent discussion; traded eyes and glanced at Mellisa; subtle shifts of expression, lips quivered with unvoiced words.

Meal finished, fire died; Sisters rose as one.

Coordinated tasks: clear the plates and wash them, build up fire, and:

“Rise, play your flute.”

She stood, drew instrument from pocket. “What would you like to hear?”

“You know what we want.”

Eyes went to fire, mind returned to the flickering song of the previous night. Raised flute, eyes closed, she blew; feet stepped lightly in small circles.

The Sisters made instant harmony, matched her perfectly.

Amused, Mellisa stopped briefly; they followed as if rehearsed.

New tune; brighter, more day-like, danceable.

Again: a perfect chorus.

One and Two joined, close to her sides; curlicues of motion in the narrow fireside space. Number three vanished briefly around the limb of the hill; returned with a large hide-wrapped bundle atop her shoulders.

Intermission: rolled logs away, opened more space; uncovered bundle.

Three smaller packages.

Unwrapped: drums; short, barrel-bodies, leather skins, shoulder thongs.

New music, driven with beat; danced with energy and passion. War-whoops and sweat, pounding hearts; frenzy.

Strange sounds; animals a mile away stopped in curiosity.

Fire lay down, musicians drooped.

Drums aside. Spread skins over ground, sprawl on top.

Kiss, hug, touch; unfasten buttons and buckles.

Naked: a writhing mass of flesh and sweat; fingers and hair and love oozed all over the groundcover.

Cozy slumber ended with the sound of a bird, a sharp whistle circled above.

Opened eyes; spied a Sister, upon a log.

"Hello."

“Good morning.” She sat up. “Where are your sisters?”

A warm smile: “We are all Sisters, now; bonded in the flesh. Our others, Amelia and Luenda, went to find out what is happening.”

“What is happening?”

“We don’t know. It is almost noon; nobody has come from the ship. Something is wrong.”

“What should we do?”

“Get dressed. Your clothes were filthy, soot-black. We rinsed them in the creek.”

Spread in the sun, not yet dry.

Mellisa winced from the damp; goosebumps rose.

Distant noise, mechanical; growl, snort, deeper vibration filled the air.

A tractor approached.

Hasten fasten, forget extra buttons, quickly lash shoes.

Up, beside Ediza.

Fast marched the slope, hit the road, turned right past north end of town.

Road looped between hills; tractor came around the bend ahead.

A figure at the forward rail; machine drew nearer; Paul.

He shouted and waved. Charlene came from the rear deck.

Tractor closed up to them, halted. Scientists climbed down; Jody emerged, stood at front rail.

Charlene dashed forward. “Mel! You look awful! What happened?”

“I’m fine.”

Paul trailed, watched the physician closely. “You scared the hell out of us.” He addressed Ediza: “You found her?”

“She found me.”

Charlene: “Which sister are you?”

Ediza: “Amelia.”

Paul looked into the face, shook his head. “I don’t think so—Luenda?”

“Yes.”

A shout from above, Jody: "Homer has figured out that you been trading off places and skipping work. He's whopping mad at you—worse than he is at the Doc.”

Paul: “He grounded the colony—nobody leaves the landing site.”

Charlene: “We came to look for you.”

Mellisa: “Friendly faces?”

“This isn’t a trap.”

“I suppose not.”

Ediza: “What authority does Homer have to shut down the colony?”

Paul: "None, really. He’s just a supervisor. All decisions belong to the entire colony—we’re a democracy."

Charlene: “But the crew is letting him. Nobody knows if there is an emergency or what. People are missing.”

Paul: “Where are the other sisters?”

Ediza: “I don’t know. I thought they were at the ship.”

Charlene: “She’s lying.”

Jody: "Look, we know that only one of you rode in from the town last night. She checked in all three and nobody has seen her since just before the evening meal. All of you have been out here the whole night and you three are inseparable—you know where they are."

Amelia and Luenda stepped from behind a nearby tree. “We are here.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Mellisa sat in a corner, Mucettis sprawled, lay heads in her lap, slept; she played flute, leaned against the rail, bounced with the tractor.

All the way back to the Prairie Schooner.

Inside the cab, Paul’s anxious eyes watched through the glass. She never even glanced his way.

At the ship: the women clamored down as the tractor rolled to a halt; they rushed up the gangway and disappeared.

A dismal sense seized Paul, a feeling of disaster on the horizon. He followed Charlene and Jody.

Homer waited within. “Well, what happened?”

Jody: “Nothing, boss.”

“Nothing? At least you found them; but they just tore through here without a word. Maybe I have my invisible suit on.”

Charlene chuckled.

Homer: “They need to know about the meeting tonight; it’s about them. They had better all be there.”

Paul: “Or else what?”

The young scientist had never indicated defiance before; Homer’s eyes narrowed, he took a slow breath. “This is about discipline.”

“Uh-huh. Homer, your authority extends over the construction work, not personal behavior.”

“The sisters skipped work hours—I certainly have something to say there. And I instructed Mellisa that nobody stays out alone—you heard me.”

“I did, and she didn’t have to obey; it’s not a construction matter.”

“I’m responsible for overall safety procedures… ”

“People are responsible for safety. Trust them.”

“Trust? I’ve been trusting, I trusted the sisters.”

“Have they done any real harm? I don’t know what they are up to, but it isn’t outrageous.”

“Not outrageous? Three workers are setting their own schedules without consulting me—their boss! If only for the stress I get; I call that real harm!”

“You have three hundred people; I can’t believe they’ve made a critical difference.”

“And when somebody else decides to take an unplanned break? And it goes on every day—the problem compounds.”

"Now we've lost another day because you shut the project down. That’s not their fault."

"Four people missing in the wilderness—what am I supposed to do?"

"Paul," Charlene cut in, "Homer has a point."

"Maybe. But he doesn’t need to create issues—it’s divisive.”

“Whatever,” Homer said. “Just get them to the meeting—if you can.” He turned to Jody, they strolled away.

Charlene watched Paul; amused, eyes twinkled, slow grin emerged. “I’m proud of you, standing up. You’re fond of them.”

Broke eye contact, a bashful boy. “They’re pretty… ”

“Uh-huh. Is that all; you think they’re pretty?”

They worked in close quarters, had few barriers. “I’ve always had an eye on the Mucettis. They’re exotic, mysterious, and real good looking. But they never connect with anybody—I tried! You can’t peel one away from the gang. And the gang is a closed circle.”

She enjoyed his romantic efforts, smiled again. “Poor Paul. You must have been terribly hurt when they ignored you. But it looks like you and Mel are getting friendly… ?”

Bashful boy again, stuttered: “Yesterday… when we had lunch… we… relaxed—got… friendly-ish.” A goofy grin seized his face, he lost voice.

“Friendly-ish? That’s sweet. I bet she’s good.”

“Yeah, exceptional.”

Charlene laughed, broke Paul’s composure completely; he doubled up in hilarity.

Recovered: “I need to see her.”

“She looked terrible out there. A mess.”

“Yeah… ”

“Go! Find out what happened. Help her… if you can.”

Paul ran the passages and ramps; came to Mellisa’s berth.

Five cabins off of a common room. His intrusion briefly interrupted a chess game.

Knocked.

Admitted.      

Fresh out of shower, in a soft blue robe; long dark curls hung damp, dripped on her shoulders. She sat on the bunk, sprawled on a stack of pillows; robe opened, partially. "Stay a while."

Paul sat at her waist. "Homer wants you at a meeting tonight."

"I know—talk, talk, talk." She curled her legs, put her feet into his lap, a knee rubbed his chin. "C'm'over here and sit next to me."

Paul disentangled from her thighs, unbuckled his boots, dropped them. He crawled to her side, lay on the pillows, pressed against her right shoulder, rested on his left forearm, face above hers. They kissed, leaned back, held hands.

A clean, fresh physician eased Paul’s anxiety; nods, heavy eyes, and soft speech told him she soon would be gone.  

"How are you doing?"

"Tired, of course—but fine. I'm going to like it on this world."

"What happened out there?"

She smiled, made a happy hum. “Indescribable; this planet, it has energy. It’s alive out there, draws me in; draws the Mucettis. I need to show you—there are no words.”

Paul nodded; realized her eyes were elsewhere. “Okay—soon. But let’s not be so spontaneous. It startles people.”

The physician made a slow chuckle.

“What are the Mucettis doing?”

“You said that they hunt; they have a camp. I found it.”

“You made friends with them; nobody has ever done that.”

“They’re rather traumatized and extremely defensive.”

“How did you reach them?”

“Fire, flute, and the planet—the energy. We bonded; they call me ‘Sister’; I’m honored.” Yawned. “I need to sleep. Don’t let me miss the meeting.” Eyes closed.

Soft breath; calm, soothing. Paul went drowsy.

Data tab: check time; five hours until the meeting. Set alarm; four hours.

Curled to her side, hand on her waist.

Her fingers found his, pulled his hand inside her robe, rested it on her hip. She made that happy hum again.

They slept.

Tickle, whir, buzz. Tickle, whir, buzz.

Paul’s data tab agitated against his collarbone, irritated, woke him. He shut it off, sat up; the bed was empty.

Mellisa, in fresh clothes, upon a cushioned bench, part of the wall; sipped tea; pipe lay nearby: “Good afternoon.”

“Hello. Sleep well?”

“Wonderful; you’re very warm, fun watching you right now, too. Sweet baby. Come over here, talk with me.”

He moved to the foot of the bunk, their knees touched.

She offered tea, pipe; Paul declined.

“Tell me about the Mucettis.”

“They’re real young—I guess you know. Sent to the colony by a rescue foundation—Liberty Safety Dignity. Out of a refugee camp. They’re from Dayron; a terrible civil war there, millions of displaced people—there’s a lot of colonists from Dayron. Before the war I think they lived in a backwoods village; parents died when they were kids.”

Nod, sip. “Yes; they told me.”

“An aunt raised them. She had a leather shop and trapped furs. Taught them woodcraft and hide dressing.”

“They’re very talented.”

"I'll say—look at my boots." He picked one off the floor, presented it. “They made them.”

Tea joined pipe; took boot with both hands.

Thick black leather, supple, solid brass buckles, heavy rubber sole; rugged.

“Very impressive.” She turned it over, felt and examined every angle. “Did they make boots for everybody?”

“Not at all. People commissioned things—jackets, wallets; some bedroom toys. My boots were a gift.”

“For an occasion?”

“No. Just a gift. They came to me about a year after they joined the colony; they asked what I would like and I said ‘boots’. So they measured my feet. I didn’t see much of them for a few months; but then they came with the boots—they feel great.”

“I’m sure they do. I bet you earned your gift somehow. Tell me about your relations with them.”

“Weren’t any; not because I didn’t try. They completely caught my attention and I wanted to get theirs—or just one… But I never felt a response. I gave up eventually.”

“Then one day they offered boots?”

“Well, sort of.”

"They must have noticed your friendliness and decided to show appreciation."

"I guess."

Mellisa smiled. "You're a sweet, honest man, Paul. I think that's why they gave you boots. Who else received gifts?"

"Not many—Charlene's husband, Jack, got a hat. They like music and Jack's pretty good; they were there whenever he played."

"They have good taste."

"I can't think of anybody else. They don't make friends."

“That’s changing.”

“Oh? How?”

“You just told me about Sisters without a home; hiding in a crowd of strangers—imagine what a pimp or a pornographer would do to them.”

Paul made glum silence.

“But they came here and they’re starting a brand-new world—Home, in every sense. They feel free.”

Nodded. “Yeah… ”

“They want connections; you’ve already been close to them—that’s why boots.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go out one night; I’ll take you. You’ll see; and find the energy I’m talking about.”

“I’m ready. But it won’t be easy. Everybody—Homer—they’re all watching. After last night… ”

“Let them watch. My free time is my privilege. I go where I wish. Homer can’t dictate that.”

“I told him that very thing, this afternoon.”

“Good for you. What did he say?”

“He wasn’t happy.”

“Probably thinks I have you under a spell; leading you by your penis.”

Bashful boy grinned; false bravado.

“Does Homer speak for the colony?”

“Not officially. He’s Administrator; that doesn’t mean much. Boss of construction; and monitor of our General Plan. That’s just a check-list, building plans, and a schedule. They design colonies to prevent power-crazy pioneers from taking over. It’s happened—really bad; leads to slavery and genocide.”

“I don’t see a monster in Homer.”

“Yeah, but who can tell? Power; it’s dangerous.”

“And when there’s a crisis; what happens?”

“Democracy; we have meetings and argue.”

“When are these meetings?”

“People hate them; we’re supposed to have one each month; but nobody has scheduled one. Then all of this excitement broke out; Homer called a meeting. Anybody can.”

“They go ‘I want a meeting!’?”

“Have to get a second call from somebody; Charlene seconded Homer.”

“Was she upset last night?”

“Of course. She wanted us to stop and turn around; go look for you.”

“I’m sorry… ”

“And Homer. He doesn’t like people seeing him mad; not last night—laid some sweet curses on you; I took notes. The he stayed on the deck and had an extra cigar.”

Her motherly smile: “I love Homer… ”

Smiled: “Yeah… So, this morning, the Mucettis didn’t check-in. Wished I saw Homer when he figured it out; I like fireworks.” Chuckled.

“He stopped work?”

“First thing. Me and Charlene were getting ready; in Commissary, having coffee. He stomped in and shut it down, right there. Called the meeting; Charlene agreed… ”

"Were you upset when I jumped?"

“Naturally. I thought we would share a bed… ” Bashful boy again: “It was okay? I’m not very sophisticated… I know… ”

Motherly smile: “We were wonderful. I want you again, soon. I’m sorry for last night—I had to jump. The sunset… Cardomon, night and stars coming; and I felt that energy; calling.”

“What is it?”

“The planet; we explore, and it’s going to explore us; microbes, all that. Something is waiting; something like, I don’t know. But it’s been waiting for a long time.”

“The planet is waiting? For what?”

The physician shook her head. “I can’t say. Intelligence, maybe; maybe us and our works... That doesn’t sound right… Cardomon isn't sure if it likes us. Earthquakes are a warning."

"People are starting to say this place is cursed. Losing a colonist the first day out is a bad omen."

"What do you think?"

“I’m not superstitious; but astrologers say that planets have spirits—why not? I don’t philosophize much; they taught me science at Academy; rationalism. On Paskenta, my old Grandmother talked different; and people respected her. She listened to astrologers.”

Mellisa nodded. “There’s something there.”

Paul nodded with her. They went quiet. Then: “We need to get to the meeting.”

“What do you think will happen?”

“Homer isn’t punitive. He’s likely to insist on make-up work, tighter supervision; maybe separate the Mucettis—and they’re a good team. But he can’t control the colony. If people are mad enough, the sisters will get stuck back into hyber-sleep; that’s a real loss of privileges.”

“Do you think that’s likely?”

“Nobody was happy getting grounded. They’re going to blame the Mucettis, I bet.”

“Homer stopped work; hardly fair.”

“Colonists don’t see that. There’s talk you are pulling a rebellion.”

“Nobody’s rebelling!”

“I know. Tell the colony.”

Mellisa dropped the boot into his lap. “Get dressed, then. We do want good seats.”

Commissary: Jody and three others readied the room; tables collapsed, folded, stacked; chairs in arched rows, faced the stage. Snacks and drinks, hot, cold, salty, sweet, caffeine, 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, took coffee, poured a large mugful. Reached pot back to warmer, elbow collided with Charlene’s; she held a glass. Coffee splashed and mixed in mid-air with red wine, 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.

Charlene returned, they cleaned.

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

Colonists milled and mulled; braided conversation knots—Mellisa anchored 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.

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

Stragglers: Homer whistled a second time. The nearby audience winced at the sound.

Mellisa joined Paul and Charlene; the Mucettis went up front.

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. "There is 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.

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; coiled their long braids into elaborate beaded knots. Jackets bore names across the left breast; the speaker’s professed ‘Amelia’. Paul wondered if the Mucettis wore the correct labels.

‘Amelia’ continued, 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."

Curious eyes swung around to Mellisa; 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."

The crowd stirred with comments. A red haired woman stood up. "I like to fish, too. But we've got a job to get done; people can’t just walk away!" Murmur arose, approving noises.

The woman sat down.

Amelia: "We are sorry. We’ll do what we must to make amends—work extra shifts."

Mellisa rose. "Let me help."

"How?" Homer asked.

To address the crowd she spoke at Homer. "I've been idle during this construction process—bored; I wish somebody would give me something to do! I’ll assist the Mucettis. I can use a shovel as well as a scalpel. I’m awake before dawn each day, just like the Sisters. That’s time we can work—with supervision, of course."

Too easy, Homer thought, but satisfactory. “Okay. But you need a supervisor—volunteers?”

A handful of raised hands.

Mellisa faced Paul; he shook his head, mouthed ‘no time’.

She frowned. He looked distressed; sought moral support from Charlene’s eyes and saw amusement at his expense.

Paul stood up. “I’ll supervise.”

Comments, wise titters.

Homer: “This comes on top of your other responsibilities… ”

“Of course.” Down to his seat.

Mellisa smiled into his eyes; he felt good.

Seat-to-seat discussions rumbled the room. People shuffled and shifted.

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."

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

Homer: "Whatever. 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 stood 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 arose: "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. "We open the town in only three weeks, Homer. It's not unreasonable for some to prospect the site. Maybe restricting people is extreme."

"You were pretty upset when Mellisa jumped; and you seconded my call for this meeting."

"I've been thinking—I was shocked last night, yes; and this morning when you told me the Mucettis were also missing—I guess I panicked a little. Everything seems okay now. I'm just suggesting that we do need to explore—even these nocturnal adventures are part of that."

"Why don't we have a vote," Homer said. "Up or down: limit people from nighttime activities beyond the perimeter of the landing area until we settle in 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!"

Mellisa: "I have a suggestion."

"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: "I can set up a registry and put it on a computer at the main portal—be real easy to check in and out."

Homer: "Why don't you do that."

Charlene: "Then we're coming to an agreement?"

"I think so," Homer said. He looked at Mellisa, then towards the Mucettis; four 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. "We made a campfire about a mile east of the town. We’re going there later—to spend the night. We leave at second nine, meet at the gangway. It is a very long walk, be prepared. Bring food and water and warm clothing."

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

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

"Be at work on time!" Homer shouted. "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!"

Amelia: “We will be there.”

Meeting over; crowd dispersed.

Homer remained and helped 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.

           

                                                                     CHAPTER FIVE

Hikers congregated, waited. Ready for the night; backpacks, ponchos, parkas. Musical instruments, all kinds; reeds, strings, brass; percussion predominated.

They waited for Jody; he installed a database at the main portal, demonstrated its function.

Logged in strolled out; people milled near the gangway in floodlit space.

Mucettis arrived, in hunting togs topped with ankle length fur wraps.

Homer came out, paced around the bottom of the gangway and burned a cigar; avoided contact, watched hikers emerge.

Hot tea in her shoulder bag, Mellisa arrived from Commissary and joined the Sisters. Hooded poncho concealed her face; all but diamond sparkle and eye glitter.

They hiked a hunter’s trail up the bluffs; a rugged scramble in a tight rocky gulch. Many dropped out, went home. Hikers with large instruments—Marcus’s string bass—organized a relay, and teams.

They topped the canyon rim.

All warmed-up for the two-hour march.

Arrived at the campfire. No rest, they unburdened and dispersed for wood; available fuel built a fire.

The Sisters retrieved their drums, launched a rhythmic volley. They howled and jumped and beat, drowned Mellisa’s flute.

Other instruments entered the ragged improvisation: more drums, bass and guitar; multi-layered syncopation; horns in harmony, an impromptu chorus; sprightly fiddles, clarinets and trumpets danced in the upper registers.

            Wood collectors returned. The bonfire overtopped the stone ring and spilled onto the gravel. Everybody retreated from the heat.

The band regrouped and the music soared, flames and cinders leapt into the sky. For an hour: song, smoke, sweat and dance. The fire caved in on itself and died down. Players dropped out, sat and gazed dreamily into the embers; sleeping bodies littered the hollow.

Mellisa and Ediza shared a log and the physician’s tea, watched the party dissipate. "We need to wake these people for work," Ediza said.

            Mellisa winced. "That won't be kind. Where are our Sisters?"

            "Luenda is asleep with her arms around some fellow—none of us has ever done that before. Amelia went for a walk but she is coming back right now."

On cue, the eldest Mucetti stepped from the gloom. "Let’s wake Luenda and get people stirring."

Her sister lay on the periphery of the scene, cuddled with the thin man who spoke out during the meeting.

He protested mildly at separation from his dear.

Mellisa picked up a tambourine and handed it to him. “What’s your name?”

"Peter Green."

"We've got to get these folks stirring—can you help?"

"Sure."

The Mucettis drummed, Peter clashed the tambourine, and Mellisa clapped; they banged and stomped through the crowd, screamed a savage reveille.

Homeward hike; a non-stop double-time march.

Earliest twilight over the ship; they returned, formed a small circle by the gangway: one last chorus, a song for the birds.

Commissary was awake, the KP made lunch and laid out breakfast. Paul and Charlene drank coffee, geared up for a busy day, reviewed plans.

A freshly showered Mellisa came in for tea and joined the scientists.

“Good morning,” Paul said. “I’m surprised you’re awake.”

“I saw some mighty scabby looking folks coming in earlier,” Charlene added.

“We’ll be fine,” the physician said. “Music stimulates. I was wondering, since you’re Boss today, if I could help out?”

“Of course, I’d be glad for your help. You said you worked with gene banks at school?”

“Essential to the medical curriculum. But I never moved one.”

Charlene explained: “Everything is automated, but it’s extremely delicate. There are a thousand tissue modules and special plumbing racks in the trailers that they hook up to. That’s what will take most of the day. It’s all painstaking hand labor.”

Mellisa giggled, “Painstaking hand labor? That sounds like surgery.”

Charlene and Paul laughed.

An hour later the project commenced. The colony had twenty tractors and trailers. The trailers held equipment racks that maintained up to twenty of the tissue storage modules at the heart of the gene bank. The modules, heavily insulated and hermetically sealed, each contained billions of cellular cultures. Virtually every non-human organism imported to Cardomon would arise from the gene bank. It was vital for adapting terrestrial agriculture and animal husbandry to a non-terrestrial habitat. Within its trillions of samples there existed the resources to confront any environmental hazard.

With fragile cargoes the tractors each required over two hours to reach the town. The narrow road was one-way and emptied tractors waited to convoy back after it cleared. It took three relays to bring up all of the tissue storage units—the last trip also brought up the modules for gestating the cultures. The final load arrived on site an hour before sunset.

Tissue modules; insulated boxes eight feet on a side; trailers held two tiers of them, four double rows of five, plugged into a refrigeration and control system, part of a tube-framed rack.

Monitoring instruments and controls faced a tiny alcove at the rear, there were no seats.

Homer took the pit, Mellisa kept him company.

They leaned against a module body, held on to the racks; a ride of bumps, dust, and more bumps. They mashed frequently.

The physician shouted over the rattle: “Tell me a little about Homer Blairsden.”

“He’s the kind of fellow that doesn’t talk about himself much.”

“I understand. But my interest is professional. Mustn’t keep secrets from your healer, and I respect confidence. I never speak of a patient without permission.”

“Okay.”

She waited, Homer didn’t continue. “Very good. I’ll have to probe. Start with an easy one. You have dogs in hyber-sleep: what are their names?”

The Administrator smiled. “Good opening. We’re suckers for talking about our babies. Two darlings: there’s Zora, she’s a NomeLaki heeler—sheep herding breed from Paskenta; silky red hair and golden eyes and the fastest thing I ever seen running. Amazing… chases rodents when we hike; good thing she comes when I whistle.

“The other one is Sheena. A feral dog that turned up at a job-site sniffing for lunch scraps. Black and heavy coat, loves to swim. Great hiking companions.”

“Then you like the outdoors?”

“I like to move my legs. Walking is very peaceful.”

“One of the best stress relievers. Better than any drug.”

“Gets my lungs going, clears out the smoke.”

“Cigars aren’t healthy—but okay in small doses. Not all of my habits are healthy either.”

“We all work on improving ourselves, a bit here and there.”

“Someday you can quit cigars; if it matters to you.”

“They give me personal space; each one is a sort of meditation.”

“See? That benefit might outweigh the health damage. You keep fit otherwise. When did you start smoking?”

“I was a kid; teenage and got called by the local militia. We had a war. I’m from Calico; no central government there. Some crazy militants that called themselves the Paratantins—they had an uprising; we had to organize an army against them.

“Cigars were part of military life—everybody smoked. I went with the crowd; in a barracks or camp it’s not pretty to be the one person different.”

Mellisa nodded. “You were young: was that the first time you left your family?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t so scared of the fight as I was of looking weird in front of the barracks.”

A good healthy laugh bubbled from her chest. “I felt the same at school. There it was a drinking scene—not cigars. I gave that up.”

“A good choice. I don’t drink.”

“See? We’ve found two things in common already. We could be friends.”

“Sure. I like to get along with everybody.”

“Your job must be very isolating socially. It’s good you have a partner.”

“I’m glad. Jody has been around a long time, we have a tight connection.”

“How did you meet?”

“On a job-site. Out in the backwoods—that’s most of Calico. I was lead contractor for a new highway bridge. Jody worked for the company I leased equipment from. He maintained all the machines.

“Whole crew lived in trailers. Mine had an extra room and Jody used it. We got cozy; we both like to cook and share a kitchen. Not territorial that way at all. Both of us were alone and we traded massage; it got sexual real quick. I don’t recall who made the first move.

“Been with him ever since. He quit that big outfit and we went partners; in business and bed. Saved for five years before we sold our company and joined the colony.”

“I’m so glad you can achieve that. Many people get thrown off of their plans.”

“Not after working as hard as I have! So, nosy—what about you?”

“I’m like you; I don’t talk much.”

“I’m calling fair play; you made me talk.”

“No big story—really. I grew up rich and sheltered; spoiled in a way. Terribly oppressed in others. Society… I wanted a different life; so I went to school. It wasn’t easy.”

“Did you go to school to be a colonist?”

“No. I wanted to be a healer and fight pain. I also studied natural science; the best medicine comes from herbs. I joined a colony when my plans were knocked over.”

“Not many rich people come to the frontiers. You won’t find luxuries—not until we build them.”

“I’m not rich. Not since I left Brahe. And I like living basically. I learned that in school; part of time-management discipline.”

“After you jumped from the tractor—I thought I might be dealing with a crazy person—no offense.”

“I’m not bothered. I’d rather be crazy than some types of normal.”

Homer smiled. “There’s another thing we have in common. You’re right—we could be friends.”

“As long as you don’t blow smoke in my face.”

They gave that a good laugh.

The day is over when the tools are stowed and the troops go home: Homer and Mellisa were on the team that put the specialized gene bank instruments away. When finished, they went for Charlene and Paul.

They came to the basement, Mellisa scrambled down the ladder and Homer circled to a vantage over the control room. He hollered at the biologists: “Ready to go?”

Charlene turned away from the computer. “I’m ready—I don’t think Paul is going.”

“No, I’m not,” Paul agreed.

Mellisa entered. “He’s going to the campfire tonight. We’re having dinner down there—everybody’s invited. Breakfast too."

Charlene: "Too cold for me"

Paul: "I brought blankets; gonna spend the night. You should try it."

"I need to take a bath, Paul—I worked hard today."

Mellisa turned to Homer, "And you?"

"No, thank you."

She hooked Paul's elbow, "Get your things."

Paul grabbed his bedroll.

Up ladder, go north at street. Trail on right, opposite tractor barn.

A quick mile to the hollow, fresh cut path and already heavily tramped.

A circle; a dozen tents uphill from the fire; homemade construction of sheets and tarps.

Colors; banners and streamers festooned guys and poles.

Noise; axes sang ‘chunk!’ ‘chunk!’, colonists attacked a log; more benches.

The physician shouted, waved; Peter Green emerged from tent construction crowd, yelled back: “Hiho!”

Paul: “Wow. Where did people find the time?”

Mellisa laughed. “They made it. Actually; only you and Charlene stayed busy all day. We had breaks, lag time waiting for the tractors… I spent over two hours here at lunch. I even napped.”

“Used the time well, I’d say.”

Passed the tents, Peter fell in with them. “Ev’rybody’s done?”

Paul: “Rolling back to the ship.” He put his load down, sat on a log, the physician went to his side.

Peter paced by the fire. "Where's th’ Sisters?"

“Hiking; Homer made them ride back to the ship.”

“That’s mean. At least they’re familiar with th’ walk.”

Mellisa: "They'll miss the dinner."

“Oh well. Truth is, ship’s rations don’t make much of camp food.”

"They had meat yesterday morning—something they killed."

Paul: "Any good?"

"Very. There were vegetables too—also tasty."

Peter: “That’s really somethin’; figurin’ out so fast what’s good t’ eat.”

Paul: “Really crazy. Lab isn’t even set up yet, can’t test anything.”

Mellisa: “They have a routine. One tastes, the others observe. If nothing bad happens after a day’s time, they assume that it’s safe.”

“Some toxins take longer than a day… and others accumulate… ”

“I know. But the Mucettis didn’t think that deeply. They’re young, rash and over-ambitious. They think they are invulnerable.”

Peter: “I think they’re sharp. Th’ way they pulled their trick on th’ colony?”

Mellisa smiled.

Paul: “Made people mad, though. Heard a lot of folks tell me to drive them hard; give them punishment duty.”

Peter: “They make whips; git one; use it on them.”

Everybody laughed.

Paul looked at the camp; fire ring, circle of tents. "You can entertain half the colony with all of this. What about sanitation?"

"Run up t’ town, use th’ portables."

"That's rugged."

"Tryin' t’ get Homer t’ let us drag one down here. But he wants to keep 'em for himself."

Mellisa: "Why can't we build a composter down here?"

"Bet we can. There’s 'nough surplus material."

"I bet he calls another meeting and holds a vote on it." She rose. "I'm going to take a spell wood chopping."

Paul: "I'll help. Should we pick a tent?”

“We’re hiking most of the night. We won’t need a bedroom.”

“Oh.”

"Don’t worry, we’ll keep you warm."

“I wasn’t worried about that. What about sleep?”

“You lose some, then you catch up. It’s only one night.”

Blazing fire, at its center, a grill, triangular, welded from scrap metal. Pots and pans rattled and steamed.

Prairie Schooner food was mostly prepared meals, heated via irradiation; a challenge to cook over an open fire. Some food boiled up edible, some needed grilling. Packages burned, or melted, uncovered meals crumbled into the flames; food that survived was scorched outside, raw inside. Soot, ash and smoke seasoned dinner; proclaimed ‘delicious’.

Musicians played sporadically; tuned, ate, practiced, drank, worked new songs, socialized, drank, returned to instruments. The meal ended, sun set; they piled extra fuel, the celebration got earnest.

Paul wasn’t a musician, enthusiasm compensated lack of talent. Reedy voice, shaky beat on a tambourine; he leapt around the circle.

Peter played guitar; a grinding rhythm machine that bounced on his heels.

Mellisa played and danced; evening rolled into night. She rested on the partially chopped log, eyes closed.

They opened, Ediza stood before her; Luenda and Amelia emerged behind.

The physician jumped up, shared hugs. “I’ve been waiting!”

Ediza: “Get Paul. We will prowl.”

Luenda: “Amelia and I will stay here.”

Amelia: “With Peter Green.”

Chorus: “He is a good man.”

Hiked through the night; winter-stars set, last quarter of blue moon topped the sky, gold and red crescents rose.

A night of learning and teaching; Mellisa talked herbology, Paul discussed taxonomy, Ediza tutored woodcraft, demonstrated snares and how to shoot a crossbow.

North, to the foothills; ridgetops became narrow jagged sierras. To a large dark formation of basaltic rock; the local summit. It spanned miles, loomed on the horizon, visible from every direction.

Ediza took them to an east face look-out, atop a cascade of broken columns, roughly hexagonal, to a flat space only a few feet across.

Below, a wide valley stretched, it emerged from the mountain feet.

Moonlit detail was impressionistic; valley floor undulated and wore dark patches of forest, a serpentine shadow of riparian woods went down the middle. Mountain slopes made a charcoal palette of textures; deep black canyons up to snowy alps.

Ediza: “That’s the headwaters of the river that flows near the ship. The Vale goes for miles beyond where we’ve explored. We’re going to live there.”

Paul: “It’s beautiful.”

Mellisa: “Are we going down?”

“Not tonight. Day comes in only a few more hours; we don’t have any meat for breakfast—yet.”

“What’s the game?”

"We prefer the large grazing beast—one kill is a feast. Hunting here is strange—meat spoils under your hands; it turns to purple dust—really fast!”

Paul: “Wow.”

“Yeah… We’ve learned a technique; move faster than the stuff. Sometimes it’s all nasty inside. But if we skin it real quick, drain the blood, we save the meat.”

Mellisa: “Purple dust?”

“It starts like mushrooms, inside the animal; it swells up and busts open and there’s these… saucers growing; it all dries up and crumbles; purple dust.”

Paul: “Like happens to botanical samples; I know what you mean. It’s a decay organism; probably aerobic. Maybe a fungus. We saw it when we hiked, Mel; remember?”

“Yes.”

“I looked at the dust with a pocket lens; resembles pollen.”

“An allergen… ?”

“Nobody’s been sick.”

“No.”

Ediza, to Paul: “We didn’t bring you here to talk about that.”

Mellisa: “We have a proposition.”

Paul stood between them; Ediza turned to him, held him, kissed him; a deep lover’s kiss. Arms wrapped bodies, Mellisa joined the hug, shared kisses, tongues.

They pulled apart.

Mellisa, to Ediza: “Now you’ve kissed a man, what do you think?”

“It’s good… not quite what I thought it might be. I like it, but I like kissing you better. Sorry, Paul.”

“I don’t mind.”

Mellisa, to Paul: “What do you think of Ediza?”

“I’ve always liked the Mucettis. What’s this about?”

Ediza: “Family. We grew up in a village; in a mountain vale just like this.” She waved to the view. “Bad people burned our village and killed most of us. We want to start our new community; a new family—out here. A homestead.”

“Group marriage, Paul.”

“Oh. I’ve heard of arrangements like that.”

Ediza: “Peter is going to join; Amelia and Luenda are with him tonight. There may be others. We’ll build a Home, in this valley; there’s room for a dozen villages, and all of the resources for a community; an enormous family.”

“You’re very ambitious.”

“Ambitions; that’s what starts colonies. Isn’t it?”

Mellisa: “You aspire to raise sheep… ”

“It’s not the same.” He waved at the vista. “That’s an enormous claim.”

Ediza: “We don’t want to own it; we want a community.”

“Home for the family.”

“Don’t resist the idea.”

He looked at Mellisa. “I think I have different notions of family.”

“I’m sorry, Paul.”

“Yeah… I’m a romantic; expected we would marry—just you and me.”

“No, Paul; I’m not a monogamist. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

Ediza: “Do you have to have just one?”

“I’m not very sophisticated; it’s a big deal to me. I need to think… ”

Mellisa hugged him, Ediza kissed him, whispered, “Don’t be hurt.”

Mellisa: “We love you.”

Quiet camp in dawn’s half-light.

A woman wore a blanket for a shawl, her frilly dark hair was sleep-ragged. At the fire; she kindled new life into the embers. Sounds of approach made her look.

Mellisa, Ediza, and Paul came down a slope; each woman had a slab of raw meat over her shoulder. They neared the fire, lay the loads on a log.

Fireside woman, in half-whisper: “Good morning! Is that breakfast?”

Ediza: “Yes. Do you know where my Sisters are?”

Shrugged. “Can’t say. Want me to wake people?”

“Not yet. Keep building the fire, we will need it.”

Mellisa: “I’m still learning names… Synoveh, Correct?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Do you play an instrument?”

“Violin.”

“Marvelous. If you don’t mind, after you get the fire up, bring it out, tune it; we’ll have morning music.”

“Okay.”

Paul looked at the timber pile: “We need wood.”

Mellisa: “Let’s gather.” She pulled his arm, led him away.

Ediza: “Do you know how many people are here?”

Synoveh smiled. “I know that Marcus is here. And I hear snoring from all the tents. I guess there might be twenty.”

“Not too many… ” Ediza drew a knife, long and serious. She carved the meat, sawed it into strips.

A few minutes passed, Paul and Mellisa returned, stacked wood; Synoveh stood, fiddled a soft drone. Ediza finished with meat, prepared salad.

Paul teetered, blinked.

Ediza led them up the hill, to a false summit with an east view. Synoveh spread her blanket on the damp grass and they sat in a knot; she knelt, played, plus Mellisa’s flute, and three voices; the pieces of a strange chord that called welcome to the sun; it rose.

Curious heads poked from tent flaps; interested bodies followed. New voices entered the chord; bass horn bottomed, guitars thrummed a pulse, other flutes, more violin, drums, reeds. Dance melodies evolved out of modal drone—sang: Arise! Move! Feel the day!

Paul sat, used his voice, weakly. People woke and he faded. Group energy pushed him a bit further, not for long.

He mouthed down breakfast and retreated from the crowd.

A tent stood open, a pile of blankets invited.

Went inside, closed the flap, lay down, made a nest…

Tent flap opened, a faceful of hot sun evaporated Paul’s slumber. A voice in the bright: “Goin’ t’ work, buddy?”

“Peter?”

Chuckled: “Yeah. Paul?”

“I need coffee.”

“Yer in luck. Full pot on th’ fire.”

He crawled forth, rose to unsteady feet, looked at the sky; the sun was barely up. “I think I slept all of half an hour.”

“Better ‘n me.”

To the fire, and the coffeepot; self service, no additives; black and gritty.

They made a bench on a flat patch of hillside, sat, drank.

Peter: “Heck of a night, weren’t it?”

“Where did you go?”

“Into a tent with Luenda and Amelia; we didn’t sleep.”

“You must be tired.”

“Feel like I’m floatin’.”

“Nice. Matches your style.”

“Ediza an’ th’ Doc had some time with you… ?”

“We went to the hills.”

“Did they make a proposition?”

“Yeah… ”

“Sounds like y’ have doubts?”

“They certainly have plans.”

“Cozy plans fer us.” Peter grinned, winked.

“I don’t know… It sounds like they want to start their own colony.”

“Nah… they call it a homestead. It’s fer everyone; open family, a big partnership.”

“Maybe too big for my comfort. I guess I’m old-fashioned; we’re not very extravagant on Paskenta, simple homes… ”

“I know yer drift, an’ yer right; y’ are old-fashioned. I’m sorry fer ya, buddy. I think yer already tangled.”

“Mel… ”

                                                          CHAPTER SIX

Charlene went down the ladder, into the gene bank control room.

Sharp odors, wood smoke, stale perspiration, confronted her.

Unshaven, red-eyed, Paul waited, his head wobbled. “Good morning.”

She admired the spectacle, smiled faintly: "Good morning to you, too. Did you sleep at all?"

“No.”

“And you’re planning to work today?”

“I’m in no shape for it. I need a nap.”

“That’s obvious. A shower would help, too. You stink, Paul.”

“Sorry.”

“I hope this isn’t an indication of what’s gonna happen when you supervise them. You will be keeping early morning hours, you know.”

“I need to talk with Homer. I don’t think I should do that, now.”

“Really? What’s changed your mind?”

“I shouldn’t have volunteered in the first place; I don’t have the time. But last night, they made an offer—Mel and the Mucettis… It’s a lot to think about and I’m not entirely comfortable… ” He described the conversation atop the basaltic ridge.

He concluded: “I just want a stable, quiet home; a group arrangement sounds chaotic. And I want someone I can hold to myself; maybe I’m selfish. What’s the problem with stability?”

“Poor Paul; they move way faster than you.”

“I need separation, and sleep—that’s why I don’t want to supervise them.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’m going to nap.”

“Good idea, Paul.”

One hour later a crew of laborers joined Charlene. Day’s task: install anchor plates for the gene bank ceiling. They clambered around the concrete walls, hammered, called out measurements, used power saws on metal sills—the din ended Paul’s nap. He got to his feet, unrefreshed, and stretched.

He worked. Lightly. Charlene assigned the safest tasks, no sharp blades or monkey climbs.

Synoveh worked with Charlene’s crew; they were old friends.

She had exciting news: “I’m with Marcus now; I went to that campfire after the meeting and helped carry his bass up the hill. We got close. Last night we made it real; and real good—the man has muscles!”

“I’m glad for you.”

“We’re gonna have lunch down there. Come along. You should see it!”

“We’ll drag Paul.”

Lunch break, the camp evolved:

A dozen logs of various dimensions made a double row around the fire,  banked coals warmed the grill, a kettle steamed; nearby, food lay heaped upon a trestle table.

Colonists ate on benches or on the ground; recreated, visited, kicked a ball, played in a mud wallow dug into the creekbank. All happy and free.

Paul found a comfortable spot with shade, curled up for another nap.

Synoveh found Marcus, they went into a tent.

Charlene got lunch—ship’s food, nothing special. She sat on a log, watched, quiet.

Camp was something beyond her ken, and she felt out of place.

Mellisa crawled from a tent, stood, yawned, stretched, scratched, rubbed eyes; they spied Charlene. She joined the biologist, sat with her. “What do you think?”

“Amazing. It’s so… spontaneous. You’d think it wasn’t substantial but it looks like it’s been here forever.”

“The campfire is one of the oldest human experiences—the original Town Hall—it’s in our genes. That’s what you’re feeling.”

“It does seem oddly nostalgic. These people are playing like children.”

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“I don’t know. I always thought maturity made you serious. This doesn’t look serious. Where I come from grown-ups never play.”

“How sad. Life must be barren there.”

“It didn’t feel that way as a child. I had family and Temple and school—that seemed like all of life. But when I see this… I missed something, didn’t I?”

“You have it now—enjoy it.”

“Thanks, I know I will.” Paused, ate, swallowed. She made a concerned frown. “What are you doing to Paul?”

The physician laughed, "His metabolism is in a state of flux—he's adapting to changes in his environment."

"You're the biggest change in his environment. You and the Mucettis. He told me about your proposal.”

“What did you think?”

“It’s not my business to say; people live all kinds of domestic patterns, when they’re all happy, it must be good. Myself; I want a solid anchor—I like Jack, don’t need any other. I like to fuck, but I had enough scenes and pretenses. It’s why I got married; and I’m okay to wait for Jack.”

“It sounds good. I envy a strong relationship, but I can’t single one out; neither can the Mucettis. But tell me how you got together… ?”

“We met at the Academy—I’m one of the founders, you know. So I lived in the barracks for six years; saw all of the colonists join—recruited a lot of them.

“The Academy was my college and graduate school; learned my science and construction, farming. And a big crowd in the barracks; we were all young and… inquisitive, sexually.” She smiled smugly. “I learned a lot, not always good, but mostly. Eventually, I got tired of it; so many little lies and poses, the petty jealousy scenes; it made me feel phony and weak.

“Jack came along two years before we embarked. He’s a refugee, a runaway slave. The charity Liberty Safety Dignity brought him to the colony, and we needed another experienced space hand. I liked him at once, tall and noble; he’s dark and I’m light, that’s pretty. Then I heard him play guitar—I quivered, I tell you.”

“I love his music.”

“Yeah; it did it for me… I took him to bed, he was shy and sweet, almost reluctant, then we warmed up and he got enthused.” Gleeful eyes. “I’m proud of myself.” Smug smile again. “We married one year after we met, to the day. Best decision I ever made.”

“You are lucky.”

“Yeah. My life has structure, it’s good.”

“The Sisters are building a structure, it will be strong.”

“I feel that; stronger than Paul, I’m afraid. What about you?”

“I need something; I’m looking. Not a partner; I’m never lacking for sex. But a deeper meaning. I felt that when I was birthing children.”

“You’ll do that for us.”

“For you and Jack? Someday?”

Smug: “Maybe… ”

“But I need connection, now. I still feel like a stranger.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Starting to. These past couple nights, here at the fire. People asked about things. You know, like diet, exercise, relaxation, and minor hurts; people are interested in herbs; I showed some to Paul and Ediza.

“So I might tutor colonists, do first aid trainings and form a class. We’ll all be teachers and start a college.”

“That’s lofty, and useful.”

“Want to help?”

“How?”

“Teach science with me—and Paul.”

“If he ever wakes.”

Giggles.

“Tell me more about Jack. I didn’t know he was a runaway slave.”

“He would rather forget that part of his life, never talks about it. Actually, most of the flight crew have similar backgrounds. Merchant ships keep tight schedules and need a full crew. If they are short handed they recruit new labor by any means available. Jack was fourteen and he liked to watch spaceships launch, always visited the spaceport. He was walking nearby, going home; two men jumped him and took him onto a ship—kidnapped him in broad daylight!

“Then comes the part Jack doesn’t like to think about. They beat him and sexually abused him, made him work. Eighteen years he calculates he lost, never saw his parents again. He escaped at Crossroads space station when the vessel he was on stayed for unscheduled repairs.”

“That’s almost incredible, but my family is in space commerce; I know of these things. Was it a Brahe merchant?”

“Yes; Reginald Shannon. He owned the ship but Jack never saw him. It’s a huge company with thousands of ships.”

“Reginald Shannon is my father.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Sadly, no. I think spiritually Jack and I are some kind of step-cousins; no wonder we both like you.”

“Jack hates your family.”

“So do I.”

“From his account; I say space merchants are monsters.”

“That sounds correct.”

“Why do you hate your family?”

“Let’s not spoil a lovely day with bad memories. I’d rather hear about you.”

“I’m nothing special, just a girl from Hesperia. They call it ‘the most civilized planet in the Galaxy’. It’s a very quiet place.”

“You said you’re a founder? Of the colony?”

“Yeah, of course. I organized it in Senior School; class project. There’s all of my gang—Kaila and her husband Gardul, Patty, and Synoveh. We recruited everybody, wrote the General Plan and papers of incorporation, found investors and donors, and commissioned the Prairie Schooner. On Hesperia it’s what we grow up for; colonies. Only eldest kids stay home. Hesperia is home for the Planetary Foundation. You grow up, go to school, join a colony, start a world; that’s what they taught me.”

“Here you are; how does it feel?”

“Like hard work, good honest work. That’s what I’m really proud of; we’re doing it so well! I have the plans in my head, you know. I read them and worked on them so much, and now I see it come real. It’s a warm feeling, almost a sexy thrill—kinda better.” Smug smile.

A vast high-roofed shed with open sides; the tractor barn. Operations headquarters, shade cavern for lunch.

Lunch spread on tables around two chuckwagon tractors. Colonists lined up; a short wait for sandwiches, cheese, dried fruit, crackers, cookies, juice, tea and coffee.

Homer pulled Jody from the queue. “Let’s see what they’re serving at that campfire.”

“Sure, boss.”

The trail starts opposite the barn, drops between two smooth lobes of hill, vanishes under the curve.

Jody: “Town’s looking good. We need to plan a party; the ribbon cutting event.”

“I think people are already having a party.”

“It can’t be all that wild. Folks work good and hard—they like to play, too.”

“I shouldn’t get tense; but I worry about our focus. This has to go on for three years; a lot can happen.”

“Nothing bad.”

“What kind of party do you want?”

“It’s gotta be noisy—we got just enough people for a parade—nobody to watch it. And we have fireworks. Music and dancing. And you gotta give a speech, too.”

“No way.”

“Who else, boss? Proclaim a bold new beginning and a glorious future—people love that. Thank them; call them out by name, make them feel real.”

“I love it when you’re right, Jo. But I don’t know what to say.”

“It will come to you. Just be natural.”

“And music and dancing?”

“Ask the Doc. She knows the musicians.”

They turned the hump, looked down into the hollow.

Homer stopped, drew a cigar from his jacket; his eyes were busy.

Jody broke the silence: “It looks like my old youth camp!”

Unwrapped cigar, lit it.

Down the hill, not another word.

Late for lunch, little on the table beyond bread crust and cheese rinds.

Jody foraged, Homer killed his appetite with smoke.

He saw Charlene, Paul, Mellisa and Synoveh, seated in a row. Strolled over.

Charlene: “Hi! Isn’t this amazing? It’s a grown-up’s playpen!”

Homer nodded, puffed.

“But I can’t chat—we’re late; I got talking and forgot the time. Visit with Mel, she’s full of plans—gonna start a University!” She stood, faced her companions. “Bet they’re waiting… ”

Paul and Synoveh rose, the trio tramped uphill.

Homer sat. “You’re starting a University? Why not? You’ve already started a town.”

She smiled. “The Sisters started this village, I only found it.”

“Well you’ve beaten my town by three weeks.” He puffed up a cloud.

“We’re not competing.” She was suddenly uncomfortable, with smoke in her eyes and a sense that Homer was sparring with her. She got to her feet and moved to clear air. “Will there be a ceremony?”

“What?”

“When the town is finished—a Grand Opening?”

“Of course. Jody wants a parade, or at least music.”

“I’m sure we can put a band together.”

“Would you? I was going to ask.”

Jody approached. “I’m still hungry, boss. I’m going to the chuckwagon.”

Homer stood. “I’m coming too.” He turned to Mellisa, “I’ll see you around.”

Three-Sister drum corps led the ragged parade, the physician fifed at their rear; violins: Synoveh and Kaila, behind her shoulders; next, rhythm strings: Peter’s guitar, Oxtot’s banjo; and horns finished the band: Hadlock with a clarinet, and P.T. Stanton blew a battered tuba, traded off a trumpet.

The colony flowed along with the musicians, toured the facility.

March, make word, cut ribbon, drink toast; repeat throughout town. They inaugurated twenty-five structures that day.

In the afternoon. drunks inaugurated the sleeping quarters.

Revived for the finale: opening Community Hall.

Homer’s speech; a bottle of champagne smashed, cheers, bells, whistles.

Dinner, drinks, music.

After sundown, an hour of fireworks.

Around midnight, embers lay low; no music tonight, players were all too tired or too drunk.

Small, fragmented crowd. Synoveh and Marcus shared a log and a personal Universe of kisses and hugs. The Mucettis, in field leathers, made a silent row. Paul sat alone, mesmerized by the coals.

One log supported three drunks; Peter, Jody, and, between them, Patricia (‘Patty’) Garcia. They shared a flask of frontier liquor—ethanol diluted with powdered fruit juice and water.

Restless, Mellisa paced, stirred the fire, shifted, turned, never ceased moving.

Agitation annoyed Peter: “Slow down will ya? Yer makin’ me antsy.”

She spun to a halt, faced the log. Dark, inscrutable eyes, aimed at Patricia.

“Have a drink,” she suggested, offered the flask. “Settle down and ease the nerves.”

“No, thank you. You’re drinking tractor fuel. I don’t consider that fit for the human metabolism.”

Jody: “Nothin’s wrong with the hooch. S’pure grain alcohol.”

“Like I use to sterilize my instruments—no, thank you.”

Peter: “Ouch.”

Patricia, drank, passed flask to Peter. “All that tea you drink—I’d be restless too.”

“It’s not the tea. I’m just wondering about the future. So, we have a town—what next?”

Jody: “Build more town, first we make farms.”

Peter: “Work never quits.”

Patricia: “Season’s coming on. Gotta get crops planted before hot weather.”

Mellisa: “And so the cycles turn, we come from the past but we’re always looking to the future.”

Jody: “That’s why we make plans, keep it rolling good.”

“My plans don’t usually work.”

“Why not?”

“Myself, I suppose. I was always fighting my family, fighting my school—fighting myself. I screwed up everything, now I’m here.”

Patricia: “Are you sorry?”

“I thought I would be, but I’m not. I’ve never met people like you. You focus on work, not on position. Only about three people were concerned that I’m not really a doctor.”

Jody: “None of us are really anything. We’re just workers. We work with machines, you work with bodies.”

“We’re inventing a society.” Patricia added. “If we want to call you a Doctor, then you’re a Doctor. If you need a credential, we’ll print one. Who’s gonna challenge it?”

Mellisa smiled. “You’re at least as qualified to issue one as the Regents of the University of Brahe.”

Everyone laughed.

Jody: “So you just take things as they come?”

“I cope with life. Honestly, it’s about as much as I can manage.”

“Don’t you have ambitions?”

“Sure, don’t you remember? I’m starting a University! I just appointed you my Regents. We’ll make Homer President and Charlene Chancellor.”

More laughter, rollicking.

Mellisa: “I’m just glad to be alive, sometimes. The future’s too uncertain, my ambition is simply to be the best that I can be in the moment.”

“Why not?” Peter said. “Don’ know, but y’ could be cut down by a bolt o’ lightnin’ tomorrow.”

“What about your ambitions? Did you plan to be here?”

Peter laughed. “Judge on Calico tol’ me to emigrate or he’d put me in a labor camp!”

“You’re a criminal?”

“I done some drinkin’ an’ some brawlin’, but I never hurt anybody, never stole a thing—Judge was tired o’ seein’ me.”

“Are you going to start brawling here?”

Peter burst out in a loud cackling laugh. “That’s gonna depend on th’ company I keep! No, really, I don’ drink like I use’ to.” He took another sip, chuckled lightly. “Besides, folks here are lot less agitated than on Calico.”

Mellisa smiled. “You said I make you antsy—do you want to brawl with me?”

Peter laughed again. “I’d like to get in a brawl with you at my back!”

Mellisa laughed this time, a deep bubbly laugh that rocked her shoulders. “I’m sure it would be a privilege, and I bet we would do some damage.”

“Count on it.”

“Not any time soon, I don’t think. I’m not usually prone to violence.”

“Neither am I. But it has its way of finding me.”

“It has its way of coming out of those bottles.”

Peter took up the flask again, sipped, and passed it to Patricia. “Here, I been hoggin’ this.” He looked up again at Mellisa. “The booze don’ cause brawlin’, you gotta be agitated or mean or somethin’ fer it to come out that way.”

“Maybe so, but where you find alcohol you’re going to find violence too.”

Patricia finished a swig, passed the flask to Jody. “It’s a synergy. Violent, agitated people are drawn to drinking—it eases the nerves—and the alcohol loosens their inhibitions—they get more relaxed; paradoxically, they get more violent too.”

“So why does Peter get into brawls? Is he a violent person, or just a magnet for other violent people?”

“Well, sometimes I don’ keep my mouth shut when I should. Folks get mad at me fer my opinions. Fer example, I remember one time I was in a bar and there was a band playin’ an’ they were jus’ terrible—unbelievably bad, it hurt. An’ I said so, loudly an’ bluntly. Turned out that was th’ first ever public performance by that band. Just about ever’body in that bar was like a close friend or relation to th’ band. They took extreme exception to what I said, an’ how I said it. That was a dust up! I held off th’ entire crowd with nothin’ in my hand but a broken bottle. Th’ cops came an’ naturally they arrested me—I was th’ injured party!”

Three drunks burst out with laughter.

Across the fire, Paul chose the moment to rise. “I’m tired! I’m heading up to town—anybody ready for the walk?”

Patricia stood up, wobbled. “Jerry’s probably worried sick about me—serves him right!”

Mellisa: “You look a little unsteady. Maybe you should lie down in one of the tents; go home in the morning.”

“Oh no, Jerry would kill me if I stayed out all night!”

“That’s only a figure of speech, I hope.”

“Oh sure, he’s a sweetheart—but he can get a temper. We had a big fight just this afternoon. That’s why I’m out here getting smashed.”

Paul: “I’ll see her safely home.”

“Why were you fighting?”

“I don’t know. We were drinking and on our feet in that crowd all day—we just got tired; maybe feeling kind of let down with the end of the construction. We were picking at each other’s nerves and it got kind of ugly—but this kind of thing happens and we both know to get away from it. So we yelled at each other for a few minutes and split—everything will be all right now.”

Paul stepped up to Patricia’s side and she took hold of his right elbow. They moved off into the darkness and disappeared.

The Mucettis rose, came around the fire to Mellisa’s side.

Amelia: “We are off.”

In line, the Sisters marched into the night.

Mellisa looked at the two remaining men. “It’s just us, now.”

Jody: “Jus’ you. Point me t’ th’ tents—I need to go down for the night.”

He tried to rise, slipped back, tried again and slipped again.

Mellisa offered a hand, pulled him up, guided him to the tents, found an empty one.

He sat, she helped remove his shoes. “Won’t Homer miss you?

“Nah, There’s no fun between us when I’m this drunk—he doesn’t want me around.”

“That’s too bad, but he told me he doesn’t drink; it makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

“Just remember: a liver clone takes years, and you are miserable the entire time.”

“Thanks Doc.”

She returned to fireside. Peter stood over the embers; just a faint orange glimmer.

He drank, smiled. “Make him cozy?”

“He’s good.”

“That’s nice.” Drank. Put the flask down. “We’re th’ sole survivors.”

“Indeed.”

“Ya been waitin’ fer me. Sorry, Sisters keep me busy.”

They hooked elbows, moseyed toward the tents.

“They do. I don’t blame them. But tonight… you are extremely drunk. I don’t find that very stimulating.”

“Sorry. Jus’ happens.”

“A sorry man you are. Not useful at all.”

“Tha’s truth. I can’t even feel it, an’ it sure won’t stand up. When th’ mornin’ comes, though; so will you—guaranteed!”

“This better not be an empty promise.”

“Guaranteed.”

“You probably snore; I don’t think I’ll enjoy this.”

“Suit yerself.”

They found an open tent, helped each other to the ground, removed shoes. Crawled inside, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Canvas shield made black space; they rubbed and lurched together.

Cozy spot, pile of blankets; clumsy fingers removed the other’s clothes. Peter’s hand made a discovery upon her hip; a canvas scabbard and the hilt of a knife large enough to cause trouble.

“Nice piece o’ cutlery.”

“Don’t ever make me use it.”

“I wouldn’ dream.”

Both were naked. She rolled atop him, straddled waist, leaned until he felt her bosom on his chest.

Her hands started at his belly, played with soft hair, moved to his shoulders. She sat up, weight on her hands, they cradled his chin. “You made a promise for the morning; keeping it will be a good idea.”

The physician’s fingers pressed his carotid arteries; she held a moment, released.

Peter’s head throbbed; lights flashed behind his eyes—he loved it.

She found his lips, shared a sloppy kiss and slid to his side, head on his shoulder, one finger played with his nipple for a moment.

Mellisa snored; Peter didn’t.

Dark, full bladder, beautiful woman in his awakened arms. Peter slithered from the tent, did his business.

She still slept, but he didn’t hesitate; woke her with warm kisses and kept his promise. They slept afterward; an hour later he repeated the procedure; and again an hour after that.

Then he went out, lit the fire and started tea.

Mellisa was pleased.