The Controller of the Winds

By R.M.W. French

An embryonic American colony survives in a fertile valley bordered by rugged mountains in a planet dominated by worldwide recurrent tornadoes. Weather scientists have produced powerful frigid and thermal missiles to alter the extreme temperatures generating the storms, and parazopters carry these missiles to the heart of any funnel threatening the colony. The stunningly beautiful country is worth every hazardous moment of existence for the pioneers expanding their liberal, modern New Ventura community. An abundance of indigenous plants and animals have evolved to retreat underground at the first sign of atmospheric turbulence, where they lie dormant until calm skies return and reanimated creatures dig out from beneath the soil and plants break through with tiny shoots to resume living in the sun. It’s wonderfully stimulating to the morale to be heroic conquerors of the ecology in a raw new land. An encounter with unsuspected inhabitants not at all dormant beneath their personal territory changes their sense of superiority forever as they learn there’s more than one way to be a human being.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.M.W. French
• Release date: Feb 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465846853

R.M.W. French

Roberta McCatty Willingham French was the child of a career Army officer and grew up a rootless American. She began first grade in Panama and went on to attend a total of five elementary schools, six high schools and three universities in north, south, east and west United States. Always the strange new kid, she became an avid reader, with authors of a great variety of books her closest friends. She has always loved science fiction adventures. In college she discovered the fascinating real science story of evolution written in stone and bone. She had five children and outlived two husbands and a daughter. She is now happily and permanently settled in a small town in beautiful North Carolina and enjoys driving trips through the countryside and good times with her extended family.

Book preview

Chapter One: New Ventura Colony

Chapter Two: Meeting at the Mingle

Chapter Three: A Stunning Discovery

Chapter Four: Into the Cavern

Chapter Five: Courteous Captivity

Chapter Six: The Search Party

Chapter Seven: In Durance Vile

Chapter Eight: Jonston’s Dictionary

Chapter Nine: Back to School

Chapter Ten: Cold Fusion

Chapter Eleven: The Rite of Apology

Chapter Twelve: Dream Asylum

Chapter Thirteen: Love and Hate

Chapter Fourteen: The Tie That Binds

Chapter Fifteen: Autumn Camp

Chapter Sixteen: Parazopter Maneuvers

Chapter Seventeen: A Mighty Crash

Chapter Eighteen: Complications of Escape

Chapter Nineteen: The Perilous Trek

Chapter Twenty: New Ventura Homes

Chapter Twenty-One: Facing Charges

Chapter Twenty-Two: A For Aeolus

Chapter Twenty-Three: Snowed In

Chapter Twenty-Four: Hostilities Resolved

Chapter Twenty-Five: Return to Zdotlaha

A terrible worm in an iron cocoon…

An anonymous medieval poem describes the knight in armor.

Quoted in A Distant Mirror by Barbara W. Tuchman

"…AEolus, from his airy throne,

With power imperial curbs the struggling winds,

And sounding tempests in dark prisons binds."

The Aeneid by Virgil, Translation of John Dryden

Chapter One: New Ventura Colony

The hook shaped echo blipped at 5:36 AM, activating alarms in the Ready Room and town.

Pilots and missileers of J Squadron bolted from bunks, yanked on suits and boots, grabbed helmets and raced for the door, pausing just enough to present tongues for the automedic’s squirt of GUNG (Get Up ‘n’ Go). Roboscoots rushed crews across the tarmac and elevated to pop them two by two into parazopters exiting the hangar cave along a maze of rails.

Sir Bartolomeo Zoppi had developed the prototype parazopter at the start of the 23rd Century, his initials providing the acronym befitting its four hymenopterous wings, bug eye canopy, bulbous midsection and rotors like extraneous insect appendages wrought by Dali. The KLR BZ classes specific for Eos were called, affectionately, Killer Bees.

Armed with kinetic interrupters, eight KLR-23 BZs hoisted themselves into the air as all the prefabricated buildings in the town sank into structures deep in the ground and indestructible shields slid over their rooftops.

The synthetic feminine voice of Doppler Central announced, Single tuba, 44 miles southwest of New Vent at 36 degrees 48 minutes North, 96 degrees 17 minutes East, proceeding east northeast at 42 point three mph, saying oomph for mph. Widths estimated and variable. Diameter at base 361 feet, at 500 foot level 374 feet, at 1000 foot level 411 feet. Crest height is at 1521 foot level with diameter approximately 459 feet. Forward momentum now 42 point six oomph, turning from southwest to northeast in random swerves. Tuba arcing 48 degrees from base to 668 foot level, ten degrees from 668 foot level to 691 foot level, 21 degrees from 691 foot level to crest.

The stated data and graphics of the funnel appeared on computer screens before each pilot and missileer.

It was turbulent autumn on Eos, a planet dominated by storm. Monotonously frequent and deadly, tornadoes annihilated everything everywhere they hit around the world. Except, that is, in the one bit of Eos where humans defended their pioneer colony with equally deadly deterrents generated by weather scientists. Over the last nine months 20 tornadoes threatening New Ventura required action, 13 had veered away. Now 16 crew members of J Squadron flew to intercept Incident 34 churning toward the town.

The massive cumulonimbus and its ominous pendant contrasted spectacularly with the clear dawn sky on the horizon as J Squadron, in two tiers of four parazopters each, swept across the plain south of the settlement, sunrise flares splashing like quicksilver over their reflective surfaces. Lightning deflector drones darted about the formation, manmade skylarks with multiple feathery rods sticking up and out, plumes designed to attract.

Tangential velocity peak is 290 oomph at 275 foot level, Central crooned, declining gradually as diameter increases upward. Vertical jet strongest at high speed center at 149 foot level, disappearing at 1000 feet to crest. Forward momentum now 44 point 3 oomph. I-34 is 31 minutes approx from impact New Vent.

On each screen the funnel was a neat depiction of spinning horizontal circles, numerals flickering in the spaces beside them. The reality before J Squadron loomed monstrously, the huge foot-mouth spewing enormous gouts of debris as it gulped its way through richly hued vegetation. The Bees flew under outlying clouds into darkness and rain.

Taking over, Commander Pilot William A. (initial only) Harkness said, and punched the supersede button to supplant Doppler Central with his craft’s radar. The other pilots and missileers followed suit. At Harkness’ right in the cockpit Commander Missileer Sandra Berchowicz calculated a provisional pattern for coordinated infiltration and spread. Miniature silhouettes of ’zopters popped up simultaneously on the screens around the graphics of the tuba, each ’zopter identified by a particular symbol.

Take your primary positions at three seven five and two seven five, ladies and gentlemen, Harkness said.

Pilots broke formation to circle the funnel in two horizontal wheels, stationing their crafts so ’zopters above sat 45 degrees to the right of ’zopters below. The superior BZs flew at 375 feet elevation, the subordinates, among which was Harkness’ Command BZ, flew at 275 feet, both circular peripheries 1000 feet from the outer fringe of the central whirling storm, each pilot continually adjusting for the funnel’s forward travel. Lightning spat and was diverted to the swarming deflectors.

On the screens the section of the tuba sandwiched between the parallel wheels was enlarged and converted into a diagram of intersecting horizontal and vertical lines forming numbered squares which distorted, swelled and shrank as ’zopters matched the tangential velocity, flying counterclockwise with the rotation.

Two minutes, said the Commander Missileer.

Radars collected up to the second data, missileers programmed direction and thrust, numbers entered Berchowicz’ computer for overall correlation, and graphics of the zone of attack became set along with formulas specific for each craft.

Present Frigids, the Commander Missileer ordered.

Slender steel blue missiles packed with helium based cryogenic chemicals were racked in the ’zopters’ abdominal compartments. Missiles extruded side by side, two to a ’zopter, and aimed laterally at the heart of the funnel.

Final crossfire coordination.

Computers flashed numbers specific for depth and spread of each craft’s Frigids to saturate the objective area in a copious dispersion.

Suppressing a yawn, Berchowicz intoned, Approve. One, two, three, fire.

Projectiles from eight Bees streaked to pierce the tuba and strew gelid pellets throughout an interior field. Ghostly sparks crackled within the blackness and died.

At the instant of launching all ’zopters skidded outward in sidelong slides to avoid any damage from shell bits that might be ejected by the twister. At a safe distance they hovered in two loosely organized layers.

There was no evidence the funnel’s force had abated although its temperature had dropped a few degrees in the target area for a few seconds.

I-34 twenty-two minutes approx from impact New Vent, the pleasant unemotional voice of Doppler Central warned.

Harkness punched Central out again and said, Deploy at secondary high level, one three hundred feet super, one two hundred feet sub.

Rotor blades hauled them upstairs until they hung in place along with the ever present crowd of deflectors milling like groupies begging to be zapped by a God touch.

Positions and match velocity.

The wheels closed in and spun with the whirl.

Present Thermals, from Berchowicz.

Flame red interrupters, effective as the Frigids in a contrary action, slid into ports two by two.

Coordinate crossfire, Berchowicz chanted. There was a distinct pause, then, Check your data, Myers. Your figures do not compute. Myers mumbled a stricken apology.

Okay. Approve. One, two, three, fire.

Heat bombs converged at programmed center points and detonated. Two discs of white-hot energy expanded to the circumference of the tuba until parallel rings visibly bubbled on the fringes and shreds like charred skin streamed away. ’zopters skidded aside and deflectors zoomed to catch up.

Return to primary, Harkness drawled.

Pilots threw their BZs into fast fall spirals, slammed on the brakes and pulled up to resume attack attitudes. Missileers recalculated dispersal patterns, flung Frigids into the still too steamy violent base; the temperature dropped seven degrees. They climbed again to blanket the chilled regions with Thermals. Primary! Harkness said, and this time the cryogenic barrage disrupted the tuba’s momentum. Everyone shouted in exultation as its foot-mouth lifted from earth. The funnel hung, whipped back and forth in a 300 yard spasm, touched down tentatively as if in pain and charged at its tormentors on one quarter in a seemingly designed change of course. ’zopters scattered in all directions, obscenities cluttering the airwaves.

Shut up! Harkness yelled. Central chirped cheerily, I-34 now proceeding north at 63 oomph— Harkness punched the override button savagely. Hit it again at primary, Berchowicz advised in her calmest voice. Harkness took a deep breath. Resume attack at primary. Commander Missileer, program positions.

J Squadron surrounded the tuba with considerably enhanced wariness and threw their Frigids. It was hurt enough this time to separate at its lower extremity. The remnants of the foot-mouth drifted apart to merge with the still agitated airborne earth debris and sank into oblivion like a melting Wicked Witch, while the dangling truncated torso screwed around in midair above it. Berchowicz said, "I think one more Therm’ll kill it," and Harkness brought them again to the crest, and I-34 disintegrated.

The squadron reformed in tiers as Central sang, No more cells on radar. Return to base, J Squadron.

This was typical lack of praise for their taken for granted no medals given every day job of protecting the local inhabitants, not to mention that today they had made sure it was safe for the shuttle to land with the latest batch of newly arrived immigrants. Glad there was now no possibility of delay, everyone cheered.

As they flew out of rain into sunlight, in the mountain hamlet of New Ventura houses and community buildings emerged from the underground shafts into which they had dropped at the siren’s warning. The autumn colors of the trees on the hilly slopes gleamed in serene splendor and the roofs of the town were a mosaic of polished red.

The base to which the squadron returned was in the valley in which they all lived, a sliver of fertility extending 23 miles between ranges as rugged as the Rockies back home. Foothills and valley had been sliced off eons ago by a geologic axe on the southern end. The River Bountiful ran over the edge in a magnificent 200 foot waterfall that split at the bottom into two streams with divergent paths and characteristics: the Bountiful Child sashayed casually south across the plain while the Sidewinder raced along the escarpment to the west for a couple of miles, crashed against a natural dam of boulders and foamed north to vanish inside towering cliffs. It was often called the Child’s Evil Twin.

The BZs descended and were immediately rolled into the only absolutely secure hangar, a luckily accessible cave. The deflector drones, buzzing electrically wingtip to wingtip in a flock, followed the returning BZs, flew past them to a particular part of the cave and fastened themselves to the panel of plugs to charge up for the next outing.

In his evening break Harkness rode his Yoiki to the reception hall to take a look at the new arrivals. The trip from Earth to Eos took two years, with the travelers in deep sleep, and there were five years between each incoming group. It was of consummate interest to check out the female potential.

He saw an acquaintance, another bachelor, Sheehan Creyne, observing the crowd from the mezzanine and trotted up the stairs to join him. They shook hands.

Seen anyone special yet? the pilot asked.

That redhead under M is rather special.

Mm-hmm, Hark agreed.

Actually I came to find the woman who’ll be working at our lab. See the one with long dark hair standing with the older couple under S?

Hark looked her over. A proud beauty.

My thought exactly.

You know anything about her?

She earned her Ph.D. in record time, comes highly recommended by Harold Chunmi—he’s head of the Botany Department at the University of North Carolina for your information—she’ll be living with her parents but she is single…and…she’s much too special for you, Harkness.

The pilot ignored this presumption.

What’s her name? Age?

It’s Smythe, Creyne answered reluctantly, looking sideways at Hark who continued studying the young woman. Pronounced Smith but spelled s,m,y,t,h,e. Persephone. She was 26 when she left Earth, you know how that is, she can claim 26 or admit to 28. Oh, they’re leaving now. They walked together to the window and watched as the Smythes were shepherded with others to board trams for transport to their new homes.

Creyne glanced again at Harkness. The guy was renowned among the ladies. Hell, he had everything going for him, a great lean physique to begin with, in the Weather Corps uniform of charcoal and silver he was virile... bold... and if Smythe had a thing for real gen-yoo-ine heroes, she’d be another pushover for him.

Will she know about the mingle? Hark asked.

I put an invitation as a co-worker into her Welcome Packet, Creyne said bitterly.

Great! I’ll count on you for an intro, then, Hark smiled, and turned back to the mezzanine for further perusals.

Chapter Two: Meeting at the Mingle

The theater screen glowed with three-dimensional images in a profusion of color and activity. After the first striking impression of neon vivid hues, the incessant movement amazed and excited the spectators. Flora—roots, cellulose and chlorophyll—undulated, nodded or opened and closed impossibly gaudy blossoms. There was no breeze, yet one kind of tree—those flora of distinctive height—turned and turned leafy appendages in hues of pink, green and violet. Another clattered diamond shaped blue leaves like castanets. A variety with no apparent leaves at all sported an enormous clump of long ropy white seed pods rising from clustered branches at its top, the entire mass swaying to and fro. It had the lay name of mop tree.

No trees were taller than 20 feet; most had smooth flexible boles and sinuous limbs. One with no branches at all had acquired the name of telescope tree because of the triangular segmented sections fitting into one another; glassy green bristles tinkled and sparkled at its apex.

Enormous insects reminding the viewers of the dragonflies of Earth, their vibrating transparent wings spanning ten inches or more, hovered over blossoms, folded back their wings and crept into alluring tubes. The invaded flowers instantly ceased their motions. Flora studied to date, a narrator said, have ‘male’ and ‘female’ and not yet understood ‘neuter’ organs. There are no birds as we know them. The film followed small chubby animals launching themselves from nests in tree branches and gliding downward on furry parasails stretching from widespread forelegs to hind limbs. They landed on the ground and waddled among bushes which were swinging and flapping their own shrubby arms as if in denial of their hopelessly rooted state. The animals, just as unable to achieve true flight, climbed back up their trees using hooked claws and prehensile tails.

The camera presented other creatures as cute as Earth’s koalas or pandas, and there were oohs from the audience as a fuzzy ball with Mickey Mouse ears stared into the lens with huge curious eyes. All of the species shown ranged in size from tiny as chipmunks to fluffy fat housecats, and all were symmetrically formed with paired eyes and ears and noses of sorts and mouths in normal distribution. Each also had two limbs before and two behind and every rounded rump supported a gracefully flexible tail. With the amused detachment of superior beings the spectators observed various animals engaging in arresting sexual intimacy; almost everyone laughed or smirked as the narrator asked, Can we presume this indicates a Universal Plan?

The action went into fast forward, moved from summer to fall. Flowers withered in a minute, seeds developed, fruits ripened lusciously. The scene shifted to the sky beyond the copse. Clouds piled up, blackened, pulsed violently and begat tornadoes. The camera panned the forest which slumbered along, no uneasy breaths of air hinting at the distant storms…but suddenly, all motion in the woodland stopped, every life form freezing as if pausing for a moment of somber contemplation. Gradually trees of one species scattered among the others drooped, their slender trunks sagging comically. Abruptly jets of watery sap sprayed from their branches, accompanied by piercing whistles. These trees collapsed like fainting maidens while the animals caught in them rode them down to earth. Other creatures abandoned thrashing boughs in leaping glides to join a mob in total hysteria rushing this way and that to smash into one another. Fruits fell to splatter like squashy bombs and seeds ricocheted like bullets. Telescope tree segments retracted into themselves until, snug as nested boxes, entire trunks were below ground, their convulsively twitching crowns shattered into green shards. Mop trees fell over in stately dignity, their white heads hitting the earth with padded thumps. The seed filled strands began to writhe and slither over and under each other into tangles, separated completely from the parent trees and wriggled away, brainless, eyeless, convoluting ropes. The camera had slowed its depiction to real time, yet the manic collapses had occurred with jolting speed. Now the entire forest heaved, prostrate. In a pandemonium of dread animals clawed and bit to tunnel into the soil. Insects whizzed above the tumult in thickening yellow air.

The screen darkened as the maelstrom struck. The recorder gave a glimpse of airborne chaff and intricately knotted seed strands, then it too retreated underground. An hour later (according to the time stated on the screen) the camera raised to survey an empty landscape through a sheen of drizzle, scraped clean as if by a giant bulldozer, the surface slick as chocolate icing on a cake. There was no sign of life of any kind, past or present.

Eventually the sun began to shine benevolently again…on mud. The soil dried and cracked in a fractal motif. A representation of the planet spinning along its orbital track indicated the passing of the seasons through summer, fall, winter and spring, when funnels ravaged the area to keep it a waste for another year. At last, gentle rains, soft breezes. The soil swelled to close the cracks. Tiny shafts of scarlet, green and gold poked into the light. Where several sprouts grew too close together, botanical inhibitors just beginning to be analyzed caused all but one to die, increasing that one’s chance of survival.

The new shoots grew with magical rapidity, in visible thrusting spurts. Miniature triangular prongs shot up from nests where the segments of telescope trees had rotted to provide nourishment for the newborn. The ascending trunks enlarged their characteristic three-sided outlines by the hour. Mop trees reached their mature heights in days and produced the ropy seed pods—no flowers were ever evident—giving them their name. Shrubs popped up and expanded to stake out territory. Earth broke; animals crawled out of their havens, shook the loam from furry backs and scurried into the burgeoning thicket. Full grown dragonflies flew in from somewhere else just as blossoms uncurled crinkled colorful corollas and delightful scents wafted through the theater.

It is thought, the narrator stated, that all animals can remain underground in dormancy for months if necessary, and buried roots and seeds stay viable as well for decades, perhaps. Apparently a number of disparate species of flora and fauna were genetically endowed with such tendencies enabling them to survive the extreme environmental transformation which occurred globally during a span of, possibly, a mere hundred years about a thousand years ago. That climatic crisis brought about the incremental generation of tornadoes world wide, which shows no sign of decreasing in frequency to the present day. All animals and plants now existing, it is assumed, are descended from these few fragile but enduring species. Repetitious episodes of destruction are a constant factor around the entire planet but life always comes back to replenish the land.

The photographer now flew over the red plastic roofs of New Ventura and the speaker described its inauspicious beginning with the landing of eight male and female astronauts who were trapped when an unexpected twister destroyed their space plane. Five years later the rescue mission found three men, three women, four toddlers, three infants, two of the women pregnant, living in a cave in the foothills shaping the valley, a cave that was the only shelter until mechanisms were devised that could lower buildings underground. The rescuers knew by then about the tornadoes and had brought weather scientists and parazopters to fight them, turning the cave into a permanent hangar. The embryo colony had stuck and grown; today’s arrivals made the population 2258, 612 native born. The camera looked down on the town square of apartment homes and bachelor barracks, the two churches serving several different faiths, synagogue, mosque, debating hall for the Nons like pantheists, agnostics and atheists, the mall with its theater, sports center and courts, swimming pool, supermarket, library, the two banks, the elementary and high schools, hospital, rudimentary university, the dairy barn and adjoining acres of corn. It showed the town’s continuing spread up the valley as specifically constructed new houses rose among Eosian trees glorious in their autumn finery of lavender and plum, saffron and crimson, the glassy green crowns of telescopes, mop heads of snowy white.

The screen blanked and the Mayor of New Ventura, Brinton Soames-Jonston and his famous mother, Margola Soames, made welcoming speeches. Margola had been one of the astronauts stranded 47 years ago, the leader who had kept them alive; she had borne three children in the five years they waited for the certain rescue mission. The mayor was the son of Major Brinton Jonston who had disappeared in the summer before the child was born. Jonston’s body had never been found.

Soames-Jonston invited the newcomers to enjoy a variety of drinks and snacks in the reception hall. He said that the New Vent winery could now offer several native red and white wines but the distillery production of whiskies was limited and, sadly, not yet perfected. Earth brands of Scotch and Bourbon, Gin and Vodka are considered unnecessary baggage and are transported only if there’s space left after stowing required priorities. You can get almost any drink you want at a high price. But there’s plenty of beer, and soda and popcorn and chips and all that stuff for the kids, he concluded, beaming.

Hark strolled through the hall looking for Creyne, spied him talking to the Smythe woman and another couple. He stood apart from them with his back partially turned, sipping a local brew and listening.

Are you working on some project as a team now? Smythe was asking Creyne in a warm pleasant voice.

We’re doing individual studies but sharing everything. Reggie—Regina—Bahatma is isolating species specific compounds inhibiting clustered growth and plotting domination. Dr. Uzee, Max, is studying plant mobilization, especially regarding the mop tree seed pods. I still get nauseated every time I see them crawl. We can’t really say what triggers the escape mechanisms yet. Sometimes the plants aren’t affected by a stormy atmosphere at all. Other times, well, you saw how insane it can be. I’m looking into inheritance factors, obscure so far, not even remotely like Earth bio.

What do you think my job will be?

I’m sure Santos will want you to do a general survey, get familiar with the peculiar botany here, then pick an area to specialize in. What are you interested in?

My specialty back home was cultigens but here, of course, there’s no agricultural history so I’m wide open. Uh, what’s our esteemed Director like, if I may ask?

Creyne pursed his lips, shrugging.

He is tough, demanding. Has bloody high standards. But, he’s fair, gives us all free rein on any theories we’d like to pursue. You’ll love the lab, it’s fully equipped, everyone shares ideas and discoveries and getting into this Eosian flora is the most exciting—

Hark decided he wouldn’t be interrupting any meaningful intercourse if he broke in now. He knew he should put his empty can in a recycle bin but didn’t want to waste time hunting for one, so he hid it in a flourishing clump of greenery in a large cement urn, and tapped Creyne on the shoulder.

Oh, hi, Creyne said. Persephone Smythe, I’d like to introduce Captain William Harkness, aka Hark.

The pilot was out of uniform in slacks and knit shirt, its pocket flap distinctive with an embroidered silver bee clutching a black funnel cloud with a comic face.

Perse or Persie, please, Smythe said, putting out her hand. Her cobalt blue eyes were direct, observant. She had instantly connected Captain and witty insignia . I heard there was a tornado the day we came down, we were told we might be delayed. Were you involved with that?

Yes, but since there was just one it was fairly routine. I’m glad you weren’t delayed.

Perse indicated the muscular young man next to her in a gray short sleeved shirt and black jeans. My brother, Pete. He’s a mechanical genius for those Killer Bees of yours.

Great! Hark said as Pete shook his head at his sister’s praise. These latest upgrades have our guys baffled. They gripped hands.

No problem too difficult for us geniuses, Pete grinned. And this lovely lady is my fiancée, Mattie Houkermann. She’s a computer tech, also for ’zopters.

How d’ya do, Mattie, Hark said. She was an immaculately made up blonde as big as Pete. Clunky earrings matched a green silk skirt and jacket. In contrast Perse was small boned, five feet six in height, casual in a jumpsuit, dark hair loose down to her shoulders. Hark liked his second impression on seeing her up close even more than his first at the reception hall. She is a proud beauty, he thought, sensing a cool evaluation when his eyes returned to hers.

I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Creyne said to Perse. Were you named after a certain Greek goddess?

Perse and Pete exchanged rueful glances. Mattie laughed.

Mom is hooked on mythology, Perse explained with a sigh. My grandmother, Rhea Thanatopsis, named Mom Demeter—Demeter was one of several children of the goddess Rhea by Cronus, which is a horrible story you don’t want to hear—and when Mom met this guy in college named Iasion, it was too synchronistic. You see, the goddess Demeter had a son by the Titan Iasion −

Don’t do this to me, Pete groaned.

− named Plutus, Perse went on mercilessly. "It was fate that they should marry, of course, but, throwing the whole story out of kilter, I arrived first. Persephone was Demeter’s daughter, by Zeus. Mom named me Persephone Ioulo, Ioulo after Dad’s mom, and if Dad acts high and mighty, she says, ‘Who do you think you are? Zeus?’ When the boy came along, they named him Plutus Thanatopsis, Thanatopsis from her mom."

When I was a kid I had nothing but trouble with Plutus, her brother said. I’m Pete, from P. T., period.

But what about the part, Creyne said, where Persephone gets…taken to Hell?

She was carried off by Hades, the king of the underworld, to be his wife. Eventually she was allowed to come up to the outer world for part of each year. It symbolizes the way plants die in winter and come back to life in the spring. She rolled her eyes mockingly. Parents’ choices of names can sometimes cause real problems for kids.

I’ll say. Hark hadn’t fully grasped the point and relationships of their conversation but he could connect with any problem with names. I have a middle initial A that doesn’t stand for a damn thing. I’m supposed to use it someday to choose a name for myself.

What about Alexander, after the Great, Perse suggested gravely.

Doesn’t fit. I’m not a conqueror of men.

No, he’s a conqueror of women, Creyne said.

Not at all, Hark denied. Not at all. For your information, it’s women who conquer me.

Somehow we know you’ve had lots of practice surrendering, Mattie contributed in a syrupy voice.

Practice makes perfect for the final one, Hark riposted, his eyes on Perse.

Creyne blurted, Among the local gals he’s known as AA for Anytime Anywhere.

Hark failed to make another comeback. The others chuckled…it must be true. It didn’t faze him.

Sheehan’s got me pegged, all right. How about I welcome you guys aboard with a round of drinks? Just name ’em.

Beer…me, too, with a slice of lime, if poss…I heard there’s some good native Chablis…I’ll take Scotch as long as you’re buying…on the rocks.

You’ll never remember all that, Perse said kindly. I’ll come with you and help.

At 10:00 PM Hark cut Creyne off at the door to walk Perse to the automated tram that ran through the valley. Pete and Mattie had left earlier for their apartment. He thought about offering her a ride home on his Yoiki but had a feeling she would refuse. She told him while they waited for the tram that she lived at the last house north with her parents (which he already knew).

There are rooms available for single professionals in the Bachelor Barracks, he said. Expensive, though.

Expensive is the catch word, she said. But, really, I don’t mind living with my parents for a while. I’ve been a poverty stricken research assistant for years while I worked on my Ph.D. Which, I must say, got me a great job in the Botany Lab here. Listen, I’m grateful that my folks are willing to put me up until I can afford my own place. I’ve never actually lived alone, I’ve always had housemates—some became my best friends, others were…difficult. Now, I’m thrilled to be here and my parents are good. So, how long have you been on Eos? Where do you live?

I came across five years ago. I live in the BOQ, the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters, it’s separate from the Bachelor Barracks which is for civilians. But we all get together for dances, cookouts, movies. Maybe you’d like to come to whatever’s happening one night.

Maybe, Perse said. They smiled at each other, aware of mutual prospects.

Somewhere in the darkness of the hills castanet trees rattled metallic leaves.

Overhead a thousand miniature moons ringed the world in a lustrous band like a necklace of interwoven strands of pearls. A million stars glittered in the immense black space beyond the arched array.

Perse looked up. I love this fabulous planet…crazy trees, fantastic color in daytime, spectacular light show at night. Hark looked at her profile.

The tram approached their stop. He took Perse’s hand.

Would you meet me for lunch Wednesday?

If 12:30 is convenient for you, I’d like to.

Five months later, in March, she agreed to move into one of the newly completed apartments with him.

Chapter Three: A Stunning Discovery

Temps have been rising since midnight, the radio said, waking Perse. She yawned and turned over, then remembered she and Hark were having a picnic, for once both off work on the same day. It’s gonna get hot, children, with scattered clouds, but don’t forget, you can burn under clouds so put sun block on if you’re going outdoors. Do get out, get out, the new spring leaves are too gorgeous to miss. Cold front and rain, possible thunderstorms expected to hit late afternoon, so enjoy while you can.

After showering, she brushed her hair under the dryer into a flowing fall. She pulled on jockey briefs and undervest of learning yarn which had molded to a bra shape and would retain its set and support her breasts until the material wore out. Since it was going to be sultry, she put on her new mid-thigh shorts and an old but favorite tee shirt of yellow cotton with a painted parrot on the front. To go with the tee, she hooked tiny green glass parakeets perched on swinging bars through her earlobes. She rubbed sun block cream into her arms, legs, face and neck; it not only gave protection, it lent an artificial summer tan to her winter skin. Humming, she strapped on sandals with thick corrugated soles for climbing rocky slopes, and slipped her heirloom timepiece onto her wrist.

This watch was very precious to Perse. As a little girl she had thought it the finest example of cowboy jewelry in the world. Its case was citrine, its face turquoise, its gold nugget hands pointed in olden days’ style at numbers that looked like they were cut from barbed wire. Her great grandmother had given it to her just before she died at age 119 and she treasured it as a special family memento. She habitually stroked the chunks of citrine and turquoise in the gold stretch link band.

She had to reset it every morning to coincide with Eos time. There were nine minutes 33.7 seconds more in each day here than on Earth and ten more days in each year. Calendars had been modified by adding extra days to the ends of certain months with much dissension. To maintain the tradition of 24 hours, minutes and seconds numbers showed on new clocks between midnight and one minute after but were not counted. People argued and protested constantly about the correct date and time.

She forced down a cereal bar and juice, then began preparations for her day with Hark. She was just taking the fried chicken from the microwave when her parents came into the kitchen for their morning coffee. Her mother opened her mouth in mock amazement, remarking, How domestic! It must be love.

Must be. This isn’t like me at all, Perse admitted, showing all her teeth in a grin grimace.

She gathered napkins, plastic plates, utensils and salt and put them into a hamper with a bag of frozen gel on top. Around this she packed sourdough rolls, butter, celery, a wedge of cheese, two apple tarts and the crispy chicken. Lastly she filled a cooler with real ice and six bottles of beer and took it to the back patio where her parents sat reading the New Vent e-news and sipping coffee.

I have something to tell you, Perse said. Dem and Ase looked at her. I want you to know I am truly grateful that you have taken me in and on for so long. But, now you are about to get rid of me. I’m moving into an apartment downtown…with Hark…in a few weeks.

Iasion, Ase, the president of the new second bank, said quietly, Don’t those cost quite a lot?

They do indeed. He’s loaded, of course, and I’m not, and you know I hate these lopsided situations. She dismissed lopsidedness with a wave of a hand. We’ll find out if domestic bliss’ll overcome financial differences.

I think Hark is wonderful, Dem said. Any thoughts of a good old-fashioned marriage, by any chance?

Oh, he’s asked me. I want a trial run before I commit. You know, Mom, he has a, well, I have to say, a definite renown as a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy. I want to be absolutely sure that he’ll last. She shrugged. Or me, too. There’s a lot we don’t really know about each other. We haven’t been able to see each other all that much, not to mention be alone together. It’s ridiculous, no privacy anywhere.

That’s right. Ase’s eyes twinkled. No cars −

No cozy motels, his wife added gleefully.

Perse spoke in a distinctly wry tone. I refuse to go to his BOQ room, all my predecessors’ ghosts would rise up and haunt me. Besides, I’ve been told everyone can hear every creak, squeak and moan through those thin walls and some are not at all reluctant to describe what you’d like to remember as a beautiful romance in excruciating porno detail the next day. A bummer for her, she had a hang up or two about sex, she knew.

Dem said pensively, I think he’s just about perfect, I only wish he had a name like ours, you know, mythological.

Mom, you are obsessed. I tell you what, though, you come up with an appropriate middle name for him beginning with A. He really dislikes his ‘initial only’.

Dem immediately began contemplating possibilities.

Perse shook her head in amusement. She ran lightly back into the kitchen for the hamper and a cloth to spread on the ground.

Need any help? Ase asked, thinking his daughter had never looked more vivid and upbeat than she did at this moment, as she paused before starting into the woods.

No, thanks, Dad. Except, please give Hark the beer to bring up. He called, he’s on his way now.

Okay, then we’re off for a walk.

I can’t believe how everything is going for me, Perse said happily. I love my job, I like my boss, I’ve found a great guy and this world is just fantastic. Life is so good I’m almost afraid… Something bad is gonna happen, if I know the gods. I bet it rains on us while we’re…uh…

Dem and Ase laughed and Perse reddened, a little. No way, she said, today is too …brand new and shiny…

But the Weather Bureau had just issued a revised forecast, the cold front to arrive much earlier than predicted.

Perse climbed the uphill path behind the house under a canopy of March leaves with delicate diverse shapes and tints of blue, rose and green fluttering in and out of sun and shade. Of course she didn’t believe that mythical gods controlled mortals’ destinies but just in case she crossed fingers that they would hold off on any rain.

The rugged terrain was eased by a ledge of rock running parallel to the valley and rising gradually like a ramp to the south. Perse turned to her left and trudged onward, unconcerned that she was alone. There was nothing to fear in this Garden, no panthers, grizzlies or wolves, not even poison ivy. Crime was not a problem yet in New Ventura.

In a few moments she came to the gorge scooped out of the mountain long ago. It was shaped like a sideways U opening into the eastern valley below. The long sides of the chasm were about 20 feet apart, and it was as deep as the trees filling it were tall. Their multihued panoply rippled from rim to rim in light puffs of air, a leafy freshet surging in the confines of a natural moat. The earth walls of the gorge plunged to disappear in lush tender foliage. She stepped carefully along the ledge which followed the curve of the U and the southern leg east like a partial horseshoe of battered stone. A mop tree