Freehold (24 page)

When they finally went to bed, she clung to him. For the first time in her life, she felt really insignificant. Not even space travel had brought that home to her before.

The next morning was shivery cold, the altitude and clear, thin air conspiring to drop the apparent temperature. She huddled under the quilts, struggled into clothes and then dared to rise. Rob began packing gear.

A mist rolled slowly down the meadow's gentle slope and tumbled over the hill. It wafted below in ghostly fingers, occasionally tearing into the sky as something below warmed in the hazy Iolight cutting across in front. The long turn of seasons here led to an amazing spectrum of colors in the dual plant kingdoms, and the light through the leaves threw colored shadows across the hoary grass. She wished for a camera, then realized no picture could ever capture this moment. Rob came and stood next to her, hand on her shoulder, and said nothing. As the gray tendrils thinned, he squeezed and pulled, urging her to the vehicle.

She had forgotten how cold she was and gratefully soaked in the cab's heat, cupping the proffered mug of chocolate in both hands. They bumped along the rutted path to the road, Rob keeping the speed down to avoid spills.

They headed further west, over the mountains. The range barely topped three thousand meters and was quite old geologically speaking. The road got straighter as the basaltic tops smoothed out to domes, trees giving way to scrub. They were suddenly over the divide and facing the central plains. Kendra gasped.

Woods. Trees. As far as the eye could see, nothing but trees. Millions of hectares of them. No sight like it had been seen anywhere on Earth for five hundred years, and not in "civilized" areas for at least a hundred more. She quivered inside, overcome with emotion, and uttered not a word. Her exhaled breath made an almost inaudible "ohhhhhhhh!"

She finally remembered to breathe in.

"Now," Rob cut into her thoughts, "Why would
anyone
who's seen this
ever
want to live anywhere else?"

"I don't," she replied very quietly, tears blurring her vision. With crystal clarity, she realized the pain she'd been feeling was that of rejection from her old home. Nothing now could pry her from her new home, Grainne.

She wondered why sights like this weren't better advertised? Surely there would be more tourist traffic and better trade? Then she realized that that very traffic would destroy the beauty that brought people. The Freeholders kept it quiet, not as selfishness, but as a personal work of art to be shared with those who would seek it out or could best appreciate it. She vaguely was aware that the investment to start such a tourist trade would be huge—facilities and infrastructure would have to be built.

The unfolding vista knocked such thoughts from her mind. She forgot her fear of the winding road and stared silently for long segs.

Halfway down the far side, Rob turned off the road onto another packed dirt trail. This was a plateau, not a meadow and there was a trickling stream feeding a small pond. It had been dammed deliberately for the small cabin nearby. "Inside tonight," he promised her.

"Is this yours, too?" she asked.

"Partly," he admitted. "We have to do some upkeep as our share."

"Sure," she agreed.

He parked in front and began unlocking sliding covers over the windows and doors. "To prevent vandalism?" she asked.

"Huh? Nah. Don't want storms or swinging branches to break any windows."

It was cool inside, lit indirectly through the trees and windows. Rob lit a fire inside a stove and pointed to a list of chores.

They spent the morning gathering and chopping firewood, clearing brush from around the road and cabin with machetes, sweeping and doing some touch-up painting. The cabin was built of wood, making Kendra feel like a pioneer in the old American West.

She shrugged and agreed to leftover scrambler, salted and spiced, and they mixed a salad of items brought along. There was crusty bread, cheese and beer. They stretched out for a short nap after the exertion of the morning and Kendra awoke to Rob attempting to make love to her. She feigned sleep a bit longer, then let her legs fall open for him. Finally, unable to restrain herself, she burst out laughing. He joined her.

The cabin had a composting toilet inside and minimal running water filtered from the stream. The best part about modern society was that they could have solar receivers and a small generator on the stream; no long buried or strung cables to disturb the landscape were necessary.

"I'm going to take a walk," she announced. "Want to come with?"

"No, I'm going to tidy up," he said. "I'll catch up shortly. Make sure you take your rifle," he added.

"Okay," she agreed, grabbing it from the rack as she opened the door. It was warm and sunny now and no jacket was needed. She stepped down, closed the door and stood, inhaling the clean air and listening, eyes closed. She opened them and strode off across the plateau.

It was pretty. The trees could be seen to sway gently and a lone cloud scudded across, seeming to be just out of reach. She examined the granite of an outcropping, similar but different from Earth granites, and handled a piece in curiosity. There was a rustle to her left that didn't register for a moment, then triggered some unconscious reflex.

She turned, startled. A fluidly graceful form sprang out of the bushes, bounded off the grassy edge of the clearing and leapt again. She realized its direction, groped for her rifle and swung it, shaking.

She automatically followed the steps Rob had drilled into her; point, squeeze, point again, squeeze. Four shots coughed out of the muzzle, recoil shoving at her shoulder. There was an agonized roar and the creature's next bound ended with a tangible
thump!
on the ground in front of her. She stood, shaking and stared at the long-legged beast sprawled on the grass. Bloody froth oozed from its nostrils.

"I'm behind you," Rob advised, gently reaching around her to grasp her weapon and lead her back a few steps. Drawing his pistol, he walked wide around the animal and fired a round just behind its ear. It twitched once.

"What the hell is that?" she demanded, shaking again.

"That
was
a ripper. Now dead. Well shot, lady," he said, holstering his own gun.

She glanced at the weapon still in her hand, reached down and returned it to its slung position. Her shakes continued. "What?" she asked, not tracking properly.

"It was going to have you for lunch. You were quicker," Rob explained.

"A bare victory for human intelligence," she said with a sickly smile, trying to relax.

"I didn't say smarter, just quicker," he returned. "Never think of these bastards as stupid."

"Yeah," she agreed, nodding vigorously.

Adrenaline from the ripper attack kept her awake the entire way home. The rolled-up skin in the truck bed didn't reassure her. She'd declined to watch the skinning process and felt queasy about it. The remains had been left for scavengers, except for one large steak. "Pretty rank tasting, but not something you get every day," Rob had said.

Pretty as it was, Freehold was no Utopia. Utopia didn't have bloodthirsty predators that hadn't had millions of years to learn to fear hominids.

She didn't even notice the fast drive down the mountains, in the dusk, that would have terrified her two days before. She helped Rob unload in a daze, got back in and was silent as he drove to Marta's. Once inside, she showered at length, luxuriating in modern equipment and safety, then crawled into bed. Rob was already asleep.

She stirred from a bad dream as Marta snuggled in behind her.

"Hi, love," Marta greeted her, kissing her thoroughly. "Is that a ripper skin in my other freezer?"

"Uh, yes. It jumped me this afternoon," she agreed, muzzy-headed.

"Well done! Can we use it as a rug in front of the fireplace? Please? Cash? Barter? Two hours of scorching sex?" Marta teased her.

"Sure, I guess. I hadn't thought about it." She was back asleep before Marta could continue her seduction. She barely was aware of a soft, frustrated curse and didn't hear or feel Marta shifting to get comfortable against her back.

"You never hear anyone say, 'Yeah, but it's a
dry
cold.' "

—Charles A. Budreau

Kendra's duties at the park changed as the seasons did. First came removal of tons of leaves, and insulated bowls for the more sensitive plants. Flags were planted along walkways to mark them under the snow. She learned how to do basic maintenance on the heating systems at the restrooms. Then the fountains were shut down, to turn into skating rinks. Additional rinks were laid out with timbers, to be filled with water when the temperature reliably dropped below freezing.

The merchants dwindled in number to a few die-hards selling souvenirs and the food vendors who never stopped. She inquired, and found out that various halls staged sales of assorted merchandise throughout the winter and some of the entrepreneurs were strictly seasonal. It seemed like a rather insecure way to make a living, but the overhead and operating costs were low.

It got cold, and she went shopping for appropriate clothing. There was an excellent selection of warm gear, from dirt ugly and cheap to very nice high-end stuff. Rob was digging into someone's operation, so Marta went with her. Her first advice was, "Remember everything I told you about fashion? Ditch it. You're trying to stay warm."

It was good advice. She got two heavily quilted and waterproof coveralls and two sets of boots, one for regular wear, one for temperatures below -20, and Marta assured her they'd have them. She elected blaze orange for her parka, just for visibility. Gloves and a balaclava completed her shopping. There went another Cr800. She sighed and bundled the stuff home.

The first blizzard hit in early November—unlike the other time divisions, they'd kept the familiar month names. Ten months of five local weeks each, with no July or August. June to September was a change that would take getting used to, but she was grateful that the whole calendar hadn't changed. There were too many things to learn now. Like this blizzard.

She wouldn't have thought that a coastal plain on the East Coast could have a lot of snow, especially considering the overall climate. She was stunned when it hit. She opened her door one morning and there was thirty centimeters of snow there. Some of it trickled in, propelled by a chill blast. She exchanged her pants and tunic for a coverall, her jacket for a parka and her shoes for boots. Her cloak stayed home.

It took her longer to walk to work. The city did little snow removal. This was one case where the lack of state infrastructure
did
hurt. The retailers were busily shoveling, melting and pressure-throwing snow off their accessways. Some had coils installed underground and were simply brushing the surface aside as it melted underneath. A few either left it to compact under foot and wheel or didn't open. The larger stores either had or contracted for plows, blowers and melters, which were simply road fusers set on low heat. The city did have a good drainage system at resident expense. It would have been impossible to live without one.

Traffic was heavier than she expected, because there was little automatic control to sequence it. Also, the thick clouds and wind had grounded all the flyers, which increased the traffic density tremendously. She had originally been amazed at the number of flying vehicles in this society and wondered why most people had dedicated ground cars also. Now she knew. The thought of a crash in midair or into a building in heavy snow was enough to make her skin tingle, and the sound of sirens some distance away added to her queasy feeling. She hoped most pilots were smarter than to risk it. Apparently, local streets and small neighborhoods either pooled funds or did without removal, hoping someone would drive by and clear the street in passing.

As soon as she got to the garage, she was sent out to help clear the surrounding streets, the maintenance access road and the main park walkways. Then she was called to plow some nearby housing complexes on contract. This was where City Parks made a substantial chunk of its revenue for the year. Hiroki called her and directed her to plow a few areas near the homes of disabled and elderly people. She found most of them had already been done by neighbors, and was again impressed by the Freeholders' social responsibility. Something about still being in the process of taming the system, she surmised. Her final tasks were the areas around the smaller, outlying parks, then she headed back, cold despite the cab heater. Then they had to clean the vehicles. She'd worked an extra div and earned the gratitude of Hiroki and Karen.

It was already well toward sunset. It was amazing how fast the day changed with a 20-degree axial tilt. She walked through the park, heading north, and stopped to watch a group of artists. They were piling and compacting snow and carving it into sculptures. She could see a castle, a dragon—a whole scene from high fantasy. A couple were spraying water and fixative over the finished parts to preserve it for a time. "Hey, do you work here, lady?" one of them asked, guessing from her mode of dress.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Where can we find a power hookup? I thought there was one over here, but . . ." he tapered off, indicating the snow.

She helped them dig for a connection and watched as they set up an outdoor lighting kit. They were prepared to work late, apparently. Another returned with food and drinks, and several passersby were gathering. The inevitable hat was getting stuffed with chits and someone brought beer. Kendra finally left, laughing. Any excuse for a party!

The winter was as long as the summer had been. Wind howled through the artificial canyons of the city, whipped across the bay and dumped occasional snow. Rob took her to a Winter Solstice ritual, a relaxed one. Marta went to one that was a much more frank celebration of fertility. It sounded interesting to see as an observer, but not the type of thing Kendra would participate in.