Encounter at Lalor: Mindfusion Book 3

By M. Bradley Davis

Dying isnt scheduled today, Ashur grimly thought. Keep close to the trees! He warned Raeven as another bolt scorched past, barely missing him. Zigzag! Make their shots as difficult as possible! He and Raeven dodged in and out of the trees as energy bolts whizzed around them.

Ashur and Raeven are eleven years old. Growing up on Lalor isnt easy. Staring down death seems easier than facing everyday life. They are loners, bullied and taunted by other kids. Earning their parents approval takes courage. Ashur and Raeven become messengers who run from town to town. They must prove their integrity every day. People across Lalor watch how they acttoward friends, customers, and each other. Ashur and Raeven must display their best spirit all the time.

Jerry Saunders and Kelvin Merritt visit the Junkyard system aboard Startreader. Theyre ready to learn how to work in space. Labor in a hostile outdoors builds character in the boys. Jerrys heroes take on new importanceand Kelvin listens, too. Tales spin wildly as the boys chase legends of paradise from Earth and Caris.

Meanwhile, a Carisian spaceship fights an old enemy. That battle changes everyones future. Carisians started the Lalor Colony. Now, two hundred years of peace may come to an end with Lalor squarely in the middle.

Ashur and Raeven face many tests as they carry messages across the thirty-town colony. They visit beautiful sites and have exciting adventures. Their success rushes Ashur and Raeven headlong into unexpected adventure. They overcome adversity and make new friends along the wayincluding Kelvin and Jerry. First, the teenage team must rescue Ashur and Raeven from certain death. Then, the mind-brothers assist their new friends with their biggest challengesaving Lalor from invasion!

Join Ashur, Raeven, Jerry, and Kelvin in an Encounter at Lalor...

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 16, 2008
• ISBN: 9781467865913

M. Bradley Davis

M. Bradley Davis’ sixth grade English teacher made a mistake. She introduced him to poetry (Thank you, Mrs. Foster!). Since then, Mr. Davis discovered he isn’t a poet. However, he loves telling stories. Mr. Davis wrote short stories during high school. Novels appeared toward the end of college. Mr. Davis became a teacher and taught fourth grade for thirteen years. He taught all the usual subjects, including courtesy, honesty, respect, and truthfulness, too. Mr. Davis was listed in Who’s Who Among America’s Teachers, and twice listed in Who’s Who Among Young American Professionals. He recently retired from the school district’s technology department. His former students inspire Mr. Davis’ characters. He enjoys spending time with young people, and finds tidbits for his stories in the people around him. Mr. Davis is active in his church. His hobbies include reading, writing, amateur astronomy, and photography. This is Mr. Davis’ tenth book published through AuthorHOUSE. Tunnel Of Dreams is a short fantasy novel. The Hand in the Mirror, The Canopus Conundrum, and Encounter at Lalor are the volumes in the MindFusion series. A Spark of Magic, The Broken Violin, and Arianne’s Waltz are the volumes in the Musica Con Fuoco series about gifted musicians. I’ll Be Seeing You is the fourth book in this series. The Enchanted Rapiers and The Reluctant Prince are historical fantasies leading cousins into their family’s past, and are the first books in the Swords Through Time series. The Hand in the Mirror was a Fiction-SciFi finalist in the 2003 ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year competition and an Honorable Mention entry in the 2012 Hollywood Book Festival; Encounter at Lalor was an Award Finalist in the National Best Book Awards 2008 Competition. Mr. Davis lives in Houston, Texas.

Book preview

Contents

Prologue

Lalor, Year 100 (current), Year 98

Deep Space

Lalor, Year 99

Storm Fronts

Lalor, Year 100

The MENTAR-As

Resistance

Epilogue

Also by M. Bradley Davis,

Available from AuthorHouse:

The MindFusion Series

The Hand in the Mirror

MindFusion Book 1

The Canopus Conundrum

MindFusion Book 2

Encounter at Lalor

MindFusion Book 3

__________________________________

Musica Con Fuoco

A Spark of Magic

Musica Con Fuoco Op. 1

_____________________________

Swords Through Time

The Enchanted Rapiers

Swords Through Time Book 1

_____________________________

Tunnel of Dreams — A Fantasy

For

Stephanie Wilson

Who absolutely insists that I cannot write stories fast enough to please her!

Acknowledgments…

I wish to express grateful appreciation to retired NASA Flight Director Gene Kranz for his inspiring book, Failure Is Not An Option. NASA’s early years spoke so clearly of optimism, strength, and success through perseverance, embodied by the pioneering men and women who made it happen. Thank you to Gene, NASA, our astronaut corps, and all those who support them for sparking our national imagination and keeping the dreams alive!

James Hilton’s timeless classic, Lost Horizon, also served as a wonderful inspiration while I worked on this tale. Great literature is something people of all ages should find time to enjoy!

I’m indebted to many people for assistance in improving this story. People of all ages contributed their time as proofreaders and commentators.

Tristan MacAvery’s editorial help caught more errors than I’d care to admit. Thanks, Tris.

I appreciate the feedback provided me by Stephanie Wilson, who read and made outspoken comments on early versions of the story. Though deaf, she certainly has no difficulty expressing herself! Readers like Stephanie, for whom the story is meant, provided valuable feedback. My deepest gratitude also goes to Jo Hamlyn and Bob Bradley for their gift of time proofreading this tale. Their sharp eyes and sharper questions truly improved the quality of this book! Thank you, one and all!

Prologue

1. Junkyard

Startreader raced from deep space’s darkness into an orange giant’s ruddy glow. The Carisian ship’s smooth lines grew clearer as it approached the outer edge of the most unusual star system witnessed by anyone aboard. Jerry and Kelvin impatiently waited for an explanation. The two thirteen year olds watched the amazing sight spread beyond the wide curve of the flight deck’s semi-circular window. The amazing pane of clear metal stretched from just above the deck to a bit over two meters in height—well over their heads—and all the way around the control center’s curved forward wall.

The giant star the ship approached wasn’t bright; in fact, it wasn’t visible from Earth save in the largest of telescopes, although it was nearly close enough to Jerry’s home to spit and hit from his farm—just over twenty light-years away. The unusual nature of this place came from its status as a failed solar system.

"That, boys, Kelvin’s father said, is called an accretion disk." He gestured out the forward window.

The accretion disk was an enormous field of rubble—ranging from fist-sized rocks to mountain-sized lumps and chunks as big as asteroids—around the star. It stretched several hundred million kilometers between their position and the not-so-bright source of light in the distance. The rubble, as far as was visible, orbited the star in a flat plane aligned with the star’s equator. Very little dust remained around the star save as a hazy scattering of light here and there. Jerry and Kelvin found they had no trouble looking directly at the star—its light output was incredibly dim. The star showed as a round ball on the viewscreen. The boys were tempted to bring a basketball to the Flight Deck because they knew it would just cover the star visible through the forward window if they held one in place. Its mottled, dark orange and dull red surface was easy to see—and fascinating to study.

Accretion disk, huh? Jerry commented.

Watch for falling rocks, NORMAN, Startreader’s Artificially Intelligent computer system, warned.

Thanks for the advice, NORMAN, Kelvin drolly answered.

Any time, Kelvin, the computer responded, drawing a chuckle from Kelvin’s dad.

Are you filtering the light through the forward window? Jerry asked.

No, NORMAN replied. "You’re seeing the star’s actual output in lumens. If we approach inside the accretion disk, I will have to reduce the light to protect your eyes—more from long-wave radiation than from brightness."

The mind-brothers shook their heads, met each other’s gaze, and then resumed study of the incredible view forward—with their noses almost pressed to the clear metal flight deck wall.

I thought gravity pulled stuff like this together to form planets, Kelvin observed.

Yeah, Jerry agreed. Neither boy looked away.

The view outside overwhelmed them. That visually unlimited accretion disk floated in space, curving away from them in an enormous elliptical sweep. This asteroid field stretched beyond their limits of perception. It faded into rocky haze—and the haze into the darkness of space—at some point their eyes couldn’t define. Startreader approached from an angle fifteen degrees above the ecliptic so the field would be visible as more than just a wall of rubble floating in space.

Right, Mr. Merritt agreed. "Untold millions of years ago, the junk floating around the star before us started to glob together from a cloud of dust. As the rubble grew in size, it should have come together into clumps and eddies that would form planets. Something stopped that from happening. He hastily added, And, before you ask—no, we don’t know what it was. Instead of a parent star with child planets, we have a star surrounded by the promise of what might have been."

Why bring us here? Kelvin asked his dad. It’s a fascinating sight, but—

"This is a useful place, son, Mr. Merritt explained. We call it the ‘Junkyard in Space.’ We often bring material here that cannot be disposed of safely on Caris."

Like what?

Kelvin’s dad, Shea Merritt, smiled. Well, things like old hulks, industrial pollutants, manufacturing wastes, that kind of thing. We also drop drive toroids that have reached the end of their operational life spans into the star.

Really? Jerry queried. Why not just reuse the materials?

They’re made of densified composites that we can manufacture, Mr. Merritt told the boys, "but as they operate, the materials slowly change into something even our science can’t break down. The only way to destroy them is nuclear fusion. Since we can’t be setting off thermonuclear devices all the time, we drop them into a star’s core. The heat and pressure in there will break them down. They’re too dangerous to leave lying around."

"Is that what happened to Startreader’s old engineering section when the ship was upgraded a year ago?" Jerry asked.

That’s right.

That isn’t much of a star, Kelvin commented with a gesture toward the broad window.

True, his father agreed, "but it is a star. Deep inside, it has pressures and temperatures high enough to fuse hydrogen and carbon into helium at a constant rate—generating light and heat. This one’s well past the dividing line between main sequence and post-main sequence stars. It’s very close to the end of its life cycle. That’s why its light output is such a dim orange-red."

Main sequence star? Kelvin asked. "What’s post-main sequence?"

Most stars emitting light just slightly brighter than that one are red and orange giants, which happen at the point where the main life ‘pattern,’ or sequence, of stars splits into old age. If they have enough mass, they become giants, supergiants, and then novas. If they don’t have enough mass, they fall into neutron stars and eventually burn into black dwarfs—stars that have died and no longer give off light.

How can a star die? Kelvin asked.

It runs out of hydrogen to burn and fusion collapses. When that happens, the star cools—and shrinks—until it loses its heat and light.

What will happen to this one? Jerry asked, curious.

It will eventually go nova and destroy all of this.

Not any time soon, I hope, Jerry offered.

Not for several hundred million years, Mr. Merritt assured him.

I think I’ll get NORMAN to explain in detail—and more comprehensible language—later. Kelvin accepted as Jerry nodded agreement. Mr. Merritt laughed.

I’ve been meaning to ask something, Jerry interrupted. How come time isn’t all messed up for us? I mean, Einstein theorized that as we approach the speed of light, time slows down so that little passes for us, while lots passes back home. We’ve spent a lot of time not just close to light speed but well beyond it. Even at the slow speeds the U.S. space program has achieved, they seem to prove that aspect of his relativity theories. Wasn’t he right?

Mr. Merritt nodded as the accretion disk continued its slow expansion during their approach. Einstein was quite right, he acknowledged. The simple answer is: we cheat. He grinned.

Cheat? the boys exclaimed in disbelief.

Mr. Merritt nodded. Sort of, he explained. "Each drive toroid is actually two toroids inside a casing: an inner toroid and an outer toroid. Our drive creates a two-layer gravity field with inner and outer components inverse to each other. A plasma field works much like the cartilage in your knees to keep the two layers from interacting. So, while the outer gravity field speeds us up and dilates time, the inner one exactly reverses that effect and keeps the passage of time onboard Startreader equal to anywhere else in normal space. Startreader speeds along going from one place to the other, yet time runs at a constant pace on the ship. It runs at that same constant pace on the world we left—and on our destination."

Kelvin’s eyes widened as his mind flew through dimly understood concepts. "That’s why you don’t let drive fields interact with each other! The field gradients formed by the toroids must be incredibly steep! If they came into contact with other drive fields, all kinds of unexpected—and probably very unpleasant—things might happen!"

Jerry caught the blur of ideas in his mind-brother’s thoughts. Okay, Kelvin, he thought sourly, don’t rub it in! I didn’t grow up on the Planet of the Apes!

Of course, not, Kelvin sent back. I’d never have a monkey for a brother!

Jerry choked back laughter.

Mr. Merritt, unaware of this nearly instantaneous exchange of friendly barbs, nodded. Precisely, son.

Okay, Jerry accepted. "This is all fascinating conversation, but why are we here?" He gestured beyond the starship’s confines.

I brought you here to teach you how to use your EVA suits and equipment. Shea grinned. You have to admit that we can’t do that anywhere near Earth without being detected!

We couldn’t? Jerry wondered aloud.

No, Mr. Merritt confirmed. The United States and the European Space Agency have too many spacecraft orbiting Mars for us to work there. The Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter can produce clear photographs of people-sized objects on Mars’ surface. Also, we can’t use Earth’s moon because there’s too much activity around there, too. Several nations, including China and Japan, have active probes orbiting the moon, examining its surface. That’s all the available territory in your home system, Jerry. There are probes either orbiting or on the way to all the other planets and their satellites. Jerry nodded agreement. "So, we learn here."

"We’re going out there?" Kelvin asked incredulously.

Yes. You’re going to walk around on some of those lumps of rock, set up a few experiments, do some zero-gee assembly and disassembly, and a few other things. It’s time you learned something about working in space.

Cool! the mind-brothers exclaimed.

"So that’s why you’ve had us in the exercise room every day since we left, Jerry added, working us until we dropped!"

Right, Mr. Merritt agreed. "You’ll find that working in zero-g is one of the most difficult tasks you’ll ever face. Your arms, legs, and especially hands must be very strong to do your tasks because there’s no gravity to help you with the work."

The boys nodded their understanding.

NORMAN, Shea ordered, "no closer than one hundred kilometers from the outer boundary of the accretion disk. Park us and go to station keeping mode. We’ll use Orion to move into the field."

Acknowledged.

Orion was Jerry and Kelvin’s space ship, currently nestled in its docking bay aboard Startreader.

Come on, guys, Mr. Merritt encouraged as he started toward the exit. It’s time to learn to put on EVA suits.

Two hundred light years away, another Carisian starship stood to at the edge of a solar system. The S. V. Erehwon was studying an unusual object in the system’s Oort cloud. The S. V. in the ship’s name stood for Science Vessel. The object under examination was planetoid-sized—about 1,000 kilometers in diameter—and ringed. It somehow attracted enough dust and ice from the surrounding cloud to create a ring system about its equator. The materials in the rings made an unusual mix—and that’s what had drawn the attention of the Erehwon’s science staff. As with Saturn’s rings in Sol’s system, small-body motions and gravity field interactions created spectacular structures within the ring system that had to be seen to be believed.

The Carisian scientists were seeing and trying to believe—as well as answer the question why.

While the various scientific departments scattered across the ship’s fifteen decks studied the phenomena around them, the captain and his crew monitored the larger universe. Surprises were neither popular nor welcome in deep space. Watch officers scanned their instruments methodically, patiently noting anything unusual…or the very lack of anything registering save what the scientists studied. Logs were updated and all seemed right with the galaxy.

One watch officer noted a change on his scanning panel. A marker indicating a high-level energy source appeared. He waited for a second sweep to confirm the reading. The scanner passed that point again, and the marker was repeated on the panel—in a slightly different location. It moved.

Without saying anything, the officer tapped controls, diverting the ship’s most powerful sensors from scientific use and toward the energy source. New information scrolled onto his screen. Alloys and composite materials surrounded the energy source that did not, as far as the Carisians knew, form without intelligent help. The officer touched more controls, calling up additional computer resources. A curving line appeared on a star chart—which also showed Erehwon’s stationary position. The interrupted and data-poor scientists wouldn’t have time to complain before events captured everyone’s attention.

Captain, he said crisply, loud enough to carry over the dull buzz of the command center, I have an unidentified energy source at extreme range, approaching rapidly. It appears to be a ship, sir.

Course? The captain inquired, turning toward the reporting station.

The ship is approaching from galactic north, sir. Its range is now twenty million kilometers and closing. It appears to be on a close-approach or intercept profile.

Configuration?

Unknown, captain. The ship’s hull is composed of alloys similar to and yet different from ours—including at least two elements unknown to us. This is definitely an alien; the computer reports its unique structural markers are not listed in our database.

Very well. All decks go to standby alert. I want all stations manned and ready. Helm, move us away from this object—smartly. Give us some maneuvering room.

Aye, sir, the helmsman replied as the computer announced throughout the ship: All personnel to standby alert. Man your stations and report readiness. This is not a drill.

The planetoid under study slid from view on the main screen that dominated the forward side of the command center. The starfield shifted as the Erehwon accelerated into open space.

He’s shifting course with us, the watch officer reported. The unknown vessel is now on a collision course!

Is he in visual range? the captain demanded.

Barely, sir.

On screen!

The computer reported as the screen changed. All stations report manned and ready, Captain.

A tiny dot appeared against the stars as the image shifted.

Extreme magnification! the captain ordered.

The image blurred and then cleared. The ship speeding toward them enlarged ominously. It appeared made of cones and knife-blades. The long, slender cones were difficult to count. The alien ship gave the impression that the cones were in motion about some central point in its structure; their sloping sides were serrated in spirals with obvious weapons clusters. The knife-blade shapes also appeared edged with generators of some type, and the tip of each cone bore an enormous beam projector complex that defied explanation. The starlight starkly etched the surfaces in dim illumination.

The captain stared hard at the screen, especially the markings becoming visible on the alien ship’s skin.

I don’t recognize him, sir, his second in command said quietly from the side.

I’ve never seen that type of ship either, the captain admitted as he tore his gaze from the screen, "but I have seen those markings. He looked around the command center with one sweeping gesture and raised his voice. All hands go to battle alert! Arm all weapons! Raise our shields! Communications, advise the homeworld we’re under attack—if you can!"

The lighting in the command center dropped to one-third normal as status screens on the walls shifted from standby alert to battle alert. The darkened room made consoles and screens easier to see, improving crew response time. The computer played the captain’s order throughout the ship. The change in status took seconds. Response by the crew was reflex; training took over.

The first officer looked at his captain as if he’d never seen the man before; the order to battle alert was unusual because Caris was at peace with everyone. They’d only done this in drills. The last recorded interstellar skirmish was well over one hundred fifty years ago.

"I don’t understand, sir—who is he?"

Range? The captain barked.

Five million kilometers and closing!

"He’s moving!" The first observed with surprise.

All stations report battle readiness, the computer informed the captain.

"Helm! Hard over! Kick us in the pants! Move this bucket! Spoil his firing solution right now!"

Aye, sir!

The stars shifted crazily as the helmsman did his job. The captain and first officer broadened their stances to better move with the ship.

"He’s Oyam, First." The captain’s answer to his officer’s question of a moment ago was delivered as if nothing interrupted their discussion.

Oyam? the first officer winced. Great. That can ruin our whole day!

Yeah, First, it can. The captain gestured toward the helm. Get us into position and ready while I make the necessary log entries—just in case. Active evasion.

Right.

The two men moved to their separate tasks.

Captain! Communications are being jammed across every FTL channel we use!

Can you find an open frequency anywhere?

No, sir!’

Have you hailed the alien?

Yes, sir! No response!

Keep trying!

The captain knew that everything seen or heard in the command center since he called for battle alert was recorded in their disaster beacon—including the terse log entries he made confirming the fact.

"Ship’s log, supplemental, captain recording. We have encountered an Oyam vessel. The Oyam is approaching our position outside the Ruapehu system on an intercept course from galactic north. All attempts to communicate with the alien and with Caris have failed. Our broadcast outsystem is being jammed. His approach is fast and silent. He is maneuvering with us. I can only assume his intent is hostile—unless he communicates. We must defend ourselves if the Oyam attacks. We will not fire first, but we will defend ourselves. End entry." The captain tapped his control contact.

Even as he turned toward his first officer, he saw a wide streak of energy blaze past the Erehwon’s bow just as the stars swung crazily. The captain staggered to his seat and hit the transmit key on his control panel.

"This is the captain of the Carisian Science Vessel Erehwon! We are on a peaceful mission of scientific study! We have no wish to fight with you! Repeat: we do not seek conflict! We do not wish to fire on you! Cease fire and open contact! Please respond!"

The communications officer turned toward his commander seconds later. Incoming signal!

On screen! the captain barked.

A scene from what was obviously the counterpart to the Erehwon’s command center replaced the view outside. Humanoid people sat behind consoles. A shifting miasma of colors that appeared to be force fields surrounding the major sections of the room eerily lit the scene. Only the center space was in clear view, and a single male person occupied that space. While the Carisian officers worked around him, the Captain watched the alien stride forward until he dominated the picture.

The Oyam’s face was angular, made of sharply edged planes. Apparently, his facial bone structure pulled the skin taut over its inflexible frame. He had a more ascetic, chiseled appearance than most Carisians; even the facial muscles were visibly defined as if through hours of exercise. The bones of his skull seemed to push the muscles right out of his face. The eyes were pools of darkest night that displayed no emotion. Silver hair framed the face in carefully placed ringlets, with the rest hanging in what might have been called dreadlocks. The captain didn’t think the silver color was a mark of age for the alien; somehow, he didn’t strike anyone who saw him as either old or senior.

You…marks…Caris, the alien said haltingly in a dialect not used in nearly two hundred years. The Erehwon’s computer picked it up and translated to modern usages, with a voice simulation close to the alien’s tone. Your ship’s markings are Carisian. That is enough reason for me. Fight or die.

We have a two hundred year old treaty! The captain returned, doing his best to save the situation. Don’t throw that away! We can work out whatever you believe is wrong!

The captain studied the alien commander closely as he listened to the translation into Oyam, a language which the Erehwon’s captain didn’t understand. He made sure everything they collected went into Erehwon’s emergency recorder.

The Oyam commander was tall, excessively muscular—as if he spent much of his time in physical exercise—and seemed to stand in a calculated pose. His face remained expressionless as he received the Carisian captain’s message. The Oyam held himself as if he considered his appearance one of surpassing beauty—even for his race. This visual presentation screamed the attitude, I am the master and you are nothing—and will be treated as nothing.

The Carisian captain shuddered.

We weren’t ready two hundred years ago, the Oyam told him coldly. "We were unprepared to deal with intelligent aliens—even if you are less intelligent. You stopped our expansion. We allowed you to stop it. We are ready now. We need growing room. We will take it." Abruptly, the screen reverted to a view of the starfield and the ship now entering weapon range.

Communicator, the captain ordered, "if you have any opportunity to transmit, send the emergency invasion signal coupled with extreme distress."

Yes, sir.

Even as he turned from officer to officer, the captain noted the evasive tactics his people were applying to their situation. Their efficiency and confidence pleased him.

Tactical—have you analyzed their design? The captain moved to look over her shoulder.

Yes, sir, she replied even as the first officer continued to give the helmsman orders. The Carisian vessel swept through space, denying the alien a target lock—at least for a few minutes longer. They outgun us more than two to one. Some of their weapons are types I’ve never seen. She marked points on her display as the captain watched. These are weapons similar to our particle beams, she said, indicating the arrays along the spirals on the cones. These are beams of unknown types. Her pointer marked the tip of each cone and the equipment lining the knife-shapes, and then shifted to clearly visible openings on the skin of the ship. These are launching tubes for what may be torpedoes similar to ours. She gestured toward several other areas. Here are communications arrays, sensor clusters, and engines.

The captain knew the image was duplicated on the weapons officers’ panels.

Go for their communications systems first, the captain ordered his tactical and weapons team. Once their transmission is down, take out as many weapons as you can. I fear we’ll have to get a snack off them while they take a gourmet meal off of us.

Aye, sir, the officers agreed.

The words had barely cleared their mouths when Erehwon shuddered from an impact.

Hit on our port shields, no damage, tactical reported. Shield efficiency is down to eighty-two percent; firming up again, now.

Okay, the captain ordered crisply. Feel out their defenses, and then go for the communications arrays! Computer, note in the ship’s log the time and position where we were fired on by the Oyam. Specifically note that we ignored the first shot—it missed wide—and took the second shot, a hit to our shields, before returning fire.

Log updated, the computer responded immediately.

Also note that I did not return fire until they actually scored a hit.

Entry added, the computer informed him.

The captain glanced around the bridge. "All weapons! Fire!"

Beams, streamers, and too bright to watch packets of destructive energy stabbed and flew across the blackness of space between the ships. Impacts glanced off shields, clawed for purchase, and lit up the heavens with discharges as each attack was deflected. The vessels shuddered with the blows, tossing their crews about unexpectedly. Each combatant sought weaknesses in the other’s defenses. The ships twisted and spun through space, each trying to gain advantage over the other. Neither truly succeeded, yet both sustained visible damage as the battle raged.

The Carisians were forced to use concentrated weapons fire to breach the incredibly tough alien defenses, but they managed to get through. Angry red scars on the Oyam’s outer hull gave mute evidence of their successes.

Beams and torpedoes from the alien’s weapons arrays struck, bounced off, and finally clung to Erehwon’s defensive shields.

Captain! The weapons officer exclaimed amid showers of sparks as the Erehwon shuddered from explosions. The image on the screen changed as the officer reported as fast he could while pointing. "I don’t know how he’s doing it, but the alien’s drilling through our shields! The Oyam cone projectors produced two beams that tore at their defenses. The outer one rotated about the inner one, acting like a potato peeler against their shields while the inner beam denied the shields a chance to radiate the energy load. Breach is imminent!" The words were barely out of his mouth before a blinding flash exploded from the viewscreen. The flash was also visible through the clear metal sections of wall in the command center. The alien’s weapons blasted holes through their shields and into Erehwon’s hull. The command officers saw the destruction just outside their blister on the upper hull of the ship. Sections of peeled back hull plating stood starkly visible against the black of space through the clear metal walls.

Outer hull breach on deck two section eight and deck five, section twelve, the computer reported as Erehwon’s captain climbed to his feet. Inner hull rupture is imminent. Smoke filled part of the command center as a gout of fire burst from behind a side wall. Crewmen quickly snatched fire extinguishers and helped the automatic system douse the blaze.

Evacuate damaged sections of decks two and five! the captain barked.

It’s those beam generators on the cone tips! The weapons officer reported tersely. Somehow, they generate a spiraling, hollow beam that chews into our screens like a drill bit!

Then they fire with the central projector! The tactical officer explained, her voice rising with the message’s import as she played back a slow-motion recording of the final second of the attack. They clearly saw a bright pulse leave the alien’s central projector, impact, and then overload their shields before gouging the hull. The energy splash broke the outer hull in multiple places.

Find a way to block it—or at least slow it down! The captain ordered.

Aye, sir! The pair chorused. Orders and ideas flew back and forth across the command center as the Erehwon’s staff attempted to devise a way to protect their ship. The babble made a considerable din in the large space.

Suddenly, a beam from the knife-edge Oyam weapons clusters struck the starboard gravity drive toroids. The top section of each toroid on that side of the ship blasted away, and the Erehwon began to move in a flat spin from the blast effect. Everyone in the command center was thrown from his post.

Main drive is down! the helmsman shouted as he climbed into his seat again. "Starboard drive toroids are destroyed!" He attempted to regain control of the ship’s motion. After a few seconds’ effort, the helmsman corrected the spin. He moved them out of direct attack for a few seconds on their sub-light engines. Asymmetric gravity field established with the port toroids, the helmsman announced. We still have a working star drive, but at greatly reduced capabilities. We can escape…

We stay! The captain snapped and shook his head sharply. What weapon could do that? The only way to destroy toroids in service as long as the Erehwon’s was by sending them into a star—as far as the Carisians knew. That book had to be rewritten, now.

Maintain fire! the first officer commanded harshly. Take out their communications! Another burst of concentrated fire from Erehwon’s weapons arrays punched through the alien shields. The carefully planned Carisian attack finally bore fruit as their coordinated attack destroyed several of the Oyam ship’s communications arrays.

"Jamming is gone!" the communicator cried out.

Transmit! the captain exclaimed.

The small victory was costly. The Erehwon’s shields were penetrated multiple times. Each failure brought disastrous results. The shields flickered and flashed, struggling in a futile attempt to protect the ship. Oyam beams ate deep gouges into the Erehwon’s core. Angry red scars marred the ship’s exterior. Clouds of escaped atmosphere filled with debris surrounded the weakly struggling ship. Secondary explosions in several areas added to the destruction.

Suddenly, the lights flickered several times and then came back at a somewhat lower level.

Engineering to Bridge! burst from the speakers. Captain, the main reactor is offline. We have a coolant leak! I’m trying to reroute and repair. The secondary reactors have taken over the load for now. If we can’t repair the coolant leak, we’ll have a containment breach.

Understood, Chief! Keep me informed!

The captain turned toward the defense stations. Do the best you can to keep engineering protected!

Aye, sir!

Incoming! The first officer shouted. He’s targeting the command center!

Emergency power to shields! The captain ordered.

An enormous hammer blow struck. Control stations exploded. The lights went out. Energy discharges burst from several unexpected places and died. A bright flash erupted overhead, followed by an instant of hurricane-force winds. People flew through the air, illuminated by explosions and energy bolts arcing to ground. The sudden maelstrom died as a force field sealed the overhead gap where the hull had been less than a second before. Darkness filled the command center. Stars shone through the force field. No one seemed to notice the missing hull.

Batteries! The captain ordered within the blackness and rattle of falling debris.

The feeble emergency lights around the perimeter of the room came up, revealing a horrible scene. Several officers were dead, including the first and the helmsman, their bodies ripped by exploded consoles. Barely half the command center crew could move, much less operate controls.

The signal went out! The communicator exclaimed exultantly as he held a hand hard to the wound in his side. Blood dripped from a cut on the side of his face. We transmitted in the clear for more than thirty seconds before they got their systems back up and running!

Good! the captain rasped through a cough from all the fumes. Crewmen still able grabbed extinguishers and tried to put out the fires. Flames flickered everywhere in the command center. Even the captain grabbed one from behind his seat and doused the orange tongues dancing around his controls; he needed those controls! A quick sprint of fingertips across the contacts assured him the panel beside his seat still functioned.

Communications to the rest of the ship is out! the communicator reported as the fires rapidly died.

Get it back as fast as you can!

Yes, sir! Switching to backup systems!

The command center was a wreck. Beams had fallen where the hull disappeared above; plates, conduits, and other wreckage peeled from the unsupported edges in a continual clatter. The captain fell into his command chair just as another hammer blow hit the ship.

Port drive toroids are gone! an officer reported. Gravity fields fading throughout the ship. The captain knew it was so as he felt his stomach go into that constant-falling sensation of weightlessness.

Communications with the rest of the ship reestablished, sir! the communicator announced. All decks are reporting heavy damage and high casualties! We have hull breaches on decks 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9, 11, and 13—some breaches are sealed by force fields and some are not—the field generators have been destroyed! Atmosphere is venting into space! Engineering advises they’ve avoided the containment breach, but the main reactor is damaged beyond repair!

Acknowledged! The captain snapped in frustration. Abandon breached areas and establish containment!

Aye, sir! The communicator replied as he relayed the order.

The main computer is down! someone else reported. The captain recognized the voice, but couldn’t put a face to it.

Belay that! the captain barked. With the computer gone, they didn’t have a chance to regain control of much of anything. Abandon ship! he ordered. Relay the order to abandon ship!

The recorded order played over what intercom system remained, along with the distinctive alert tone reserved for that single purpose. It no sooner began to sound than someone who’d stepped up to the tactical station faced his commander.

"Captain! Our shields are gone! We have no defensive capability! Another officer exclaimed in shock. The alien’s targeting our command center again! Isn’t he going to give us a chance to surrender?"

Apparently not, the captain observed laconically as he stabbed his hand down on the silent dispatch control for the emergency recorder. A high pitched, double beep confirmed his instruction and launch of the recorder just before the beam from the alien weapon arrived. It gouged a hole through the thickness of Erehwon, taking out the command center and a cylinder through every deck beneath it. Explosions seemed to peel the Carisian vessel from the inside out.

Somehow, a few escape pods blasted away from the Erehwon in the midst of the final explosions. They scattered unnoticed amid the flying debris.

The gigantic beam grazed the emergency recorder as it was ejected, scorching its side. Debris scattered outward, pushed by the cloud of atmosphere vented into space; emergency systems designed to stop loss of atmosphere were damaged beyond function. What few air pockets existed within the ship would last from a few minutes to no more than a couple of hours—if anyone within remained alive. The debris cloud slowly expanded away from the hulk that once was the Erehwon. The blast effect of the widespread explosions sent what was left of the Carisian ship into a slow tumble.

The Oyam ship secured its weapons and moved away, searching for more prey after their first easy victory. A camera on the emergency recorder managed to capture images of the Oyam vessel departing the scene of battle. What was left of the Erehwon slowly spun through the debris cloud left by its destruction.

The emergency recorder moved away, impelled by the high-pressure discharge that launched it. A small thruster pack that did not produce enough energy or visible light to be detected cut in and sped the recorder away. When the fuel expired, the recorder coasted. The distance from the recorder’s launch point increased until the wreck of the Erehwon disappeared from sight.

Hours later, the recorder broadcast its disaster message. The transmitter repeated the warning over faster than light channels until its fuel cell power supply ran out. A separate battery sounded a locator beacon for the Carisian ships soon to visit the Erehwon’s wreck. The ruined ship wasn’t visible as it tumbled through nearby space, useful now only as scrap for the junkyard.

Lalor, Year 100 (current), Year 98

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2. Defiance

Year 100

"Raeven Thorne! How many times have I said I wish you wouldn’t run around with that boy?"

A girl with close-trimmed, wavy black hair stepped onto the walk to her house even as those words reached her ears. She whirled toward the stone table shaded by a spreading tree in her yard. Her glacier-blue eyes snapped with irritation as she turned her purposeful stride. She marched toward the woman seated beneath the tree instead of into the house, the messenger pack across her shoulders suddenly forgotten. More than I can remember, Mother! She answered resentfully. Mom’s constant nagging about her best friend, Ashur, drove Raeven crazy.

"Then why don’t you listen?"

"I like him, Mother!"

"You like him? At your age?" Raeven’s mother was an older copy of her daughter, but with longer hair waved in exactly the same manner. Neither gray nor white touched Mrs. Thorne’s black hair; she remained young and attractive despite her daughter’s trying nature. She’d been a single parent for the past several years; she enjoyed her freedom once the initial pain over her husband’s death receded and saw no reason to change her lifestyle in the near future—despite the several men eagerly pursuing her.

Yes, mother. What’s wrong with my age? Am I taking too long to grow up? Raeven looked her mother full in the face, her slender body tense and sprung forward on the balls of her feet. Her eleventh birthday passed several months before, practically at the same time as Ashur’s. Her mother’s questions constantly annoyed Raeven, especially since she lately noticed her body changing with the passage of time. Both the questions and the changes made her uncomfortable. Besides, this was an old argument—one she was quite tired of, actually.

Mom took a deep breath and whispered without moving her lips. You’re growing up too fast. She caught Raeven’s eye and spoke as calmly as she could. Girls your age shouldn’t notice boys for another couple of years. Your behavior is unseemly. You belong with other girls.

Raeven snorted. "I’m not noticing him. There’s nothing to notice! As for spending time with other girls, forget it. I’ve tried. They aren’t interested in the things I like to do. A twist of her head shook her wavy hair. They’d rather sit around and chatter all the time. Not one of them can keep up with me. Those girls you want me with don’t like to run or climb trees, either."

I wish you didn’t, her mother admitted exasperatedly.

I know, Raeven agreed. It’s the way I am. Ashur is good company. He’s eleven, like me. He doesn’t talk my ears off, he likes to explore, and he can keep up with me. He’s dependable—and not easily frightened.

Mrs. Thorne looked her daughter over carefully. That tone of voice, the body language, the verbal inflections, even—reminded her very much of her husband. Raeven’s father—the center of the little girl’s world—died when the apple of his eye was far too young. It wasn’t fair; Raeven shouldn’t have to face the responsibilities of growing up fatherless. Despite the child’s ability to assume more mature attitudes and emotional balance—a natural gift from their Carisian ancestors—it still wasn’t fair.

Raeven didn’t see her mother’s expression. Her description brought Ashur’s image to her mind’s eye. He was her size, slender, strong, blazingly bright-blond-headed, and hazel-eyed. He had a straight—small, but definitely cute—nose in an oval face, and a grin that warmed her every time she saw it. Ashur’s smile was contagious; she couldn’t help smiling in return every time he grinned—and that grin always raised her spirits.

"Why you want to run all over the world is beyond me, her mother admitted. I wish you’d grow up and stop all this foolishness. Leave the ‘running’ to someone else."

Which would you rather I did? Raeven asked evenly, knowing she had her mother cornered. "Should I spend all my time with the girls—and have their parents complaining because we fight—and I win? Or would you rather I carry messages with Ashur, occasionally bring back a barter chip or two from a tip because I rendered courteous service, and have station manager Ehren send compliments on my skill and dependable nature?"

"I wish you’d find something to do that didn’t involve messages or that boy. Raeven’s mom sighed. I know you won’t, so you might as well get cleaned up."

Yes, Mother, Raeven agreed. I’ll be back shortly. She turned on her heel and entered their small house.

Raeven needed little time to set aside her messenger pack and its cargo of new cloth for her dancing dress, gather clean clothing, and head for the bathroom. As she stripped and showered, she thought about how this situation started. The memory made her smile even as the spray of water carried away the dirt from her latest run. Meeting Ashur two years ago became a turning point in her life…

Year 98

Raeven and her mother moved to Bendoc village at the end of her eighth year. Her ninth birthday passed just before the start of spring during their move. They nearly crossed the Lalor colony to settle in the new home a year after her father lost his life in an accident. Unable to remain in Prahran where so many memories haunted them, they sent out word that they were willing to trade homes with someone from a distant village. A reply from a young couple with a growing family gave them the chance to move to Bendoc.

Raeven and her mom packed up their belongings, stowed them on a large wagon borrowed from the Prahran barter manager, and set out for Bendoc. A team of dray animals, also on loan, pulled the wagon. The wagon and team would return with Prahran’s newest residents.

The trip to Bendoc required the better part of a month to complete and took them through several of the colony’s villages. The route circled around the edge of the colony’s settled area. They couldn’t go directly through the capital, Avenel, because Malvern Pass in the Boolarra Mountains leading to Bendoc was too narrow for the large wagon. The switchbacks used to climb to and from the pass were gentle enough, but made for the narrower wagons of eighty years ago. This wasn’t a problem, however; Lalor boasted few animals large enough to threaten the travelers. The routes between villages were well-maintained. Messengers, farmers, carters, and other travelers from around the colony frequently used them. When they arrived in Bendoc, mother and daughter unloaded their belongings and helped the young family pack for their move to Prahran.

Raeven’s first days in Bendoc were trying. The girls ignored her because she was new. Rather than endure their snubbing, Raeven headed for the nearby fields. She loved watching animals, so walking away from the other girls didn’t bother her. She learned woodcraft from her father; consequently, she wasn’t in danger of becoming lost—even in this new place. Once free of the buildings, Raeven looked for a shady spot where she could settle and observe…and found the perfect place—only to discover a boy up her tree.

The tree spread its branches wide over her head. The lowest ones were just within reach—if she jumped. The tree seemed built for climbing; its branches were spaced close together along the tree’s meter-thick trunk, extending outward in wide, strong lines. The leafy canopy created a huge shady patch, a place of cool rest for hot days.

What are you doing? Raeven called softly, her face tilted toward the leaves. She wished her voice was pitched a bit higher; she knew her mother thought that sometimes she sounded like a boy. The boy knelt on one of the lowermost branches, his head, shoulders, and arms hidden by leaves.

Looking, a muffled reply filtered down from above. Go away. He had a pleasant sounding voice—even when ordering someone around.

Looking at what?

Nothing. Go away!

Raeven moved around under the tree until she saw him clearly. His head and shoulders were inserted among a tangle of branches. Splashes of light and shadow filtered down through the leaves. The changing colors prevented her from noticing much about his appearance. Raeven had no difficulty spotting the focus of his attention, however. She swore she saw three different bird nests within easy reach. She even thought she heard soft peeps coming from somewhere up there. His hands were on separate branches, not touching anywhere near the nests.

How many did you find?

"None of your business! I said go away!"

If you disturb them, the adults won’t return, she warned.

I know that! You hard of hearing? He hissed. Leave me alone!

Raeven considered. He’s rude, even for a stranger. Lesson time—No one treats me this way! His perch isn’t all that secure; his knees are tilted backward on the branch. A firm shove above his knees will put him on the ground…

Raeven’s hands produced the expected results.

HEY! The boy shouted as he fell. The shout ended in an abrupt grunt as he landed flat on his back, arms and legs splayed out, and nearly had the wind knocked out of him. Raeven moved forward as startled bird wings flapped overhead.

Before she knew what happened, the boy scissored his legs, knocking her down. Raeven found herself rolling across the ground, scrabbling with him. He was fast, he was strong, and he felt like he was made of steel springs. They rolled about, each giving about as good as received for half a minute. For all his strength and speed, he was smaller and lighter than she, and Raeven took advantage. Using skills learned from scraps with boys in her previous home, she flipped him on his back, pinned his legs with her knees, and the rest of him with her weight.

Instantly realizing his peril, the boy jerked one arm free. Because he was small and the other boys sometimes found it sporting to rough him up, he’d learned a trick or two that would get him out of almost any situation. He used his free hand to grab for a handle on this boy that never failed. His hand closed—and didn’t grasp what he expected.

Hey! That’s not nice!

Eyes suddenly wide with shock, he let go.

A fist landed in his gut.

"Ow! You’re—you’re a girl!"

I know that!

The boy went limp. "I’m—I’m sorry," he apologized.

"Why’d you do that?" She asked, not quite ready to release him.

He looked away and then back, hoping she wouldn’t force him to answer. No dice. He saw it in her eyes. He took a cautious breath. The other boys pick on me, sometimes, he admitted. "I’m small. Sometimes I have to—cheat—to get away from them. I didn’t mean anything else, I swear."

Raeven stared down at his unresisting form for a few seconds before replying. His face showed both honesty and shame. He was truly embarrassed about grabbing her the way he did. "That I can understand, she agreed as she rolled to the grass beside him. I’ve had to use the same trick myself."

"You have?" His eyes widened. His head turned to follow her, but he made no move to get up.

Umm hmm, Raeven nodded with a smile. "I know a couple of variations that are really painful. Maybe I’ll show you sometime." Her dark blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Just don’t use them on me, he suggested. Please?"

Don’t give me reason, she agreed as she sat upright beside him.

I won’t, he told her, and rolled to his side. I wouldn’t have, before, he sprang to a seated position beside her, if I realized you were a girl.

Why?

My folks made me promise I won’t do mean things—especially not to girls. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them.

But you do them to the boys?

"Only when I have to, he admitted, embarrassment coloring his words. Even embarrassed, his eyes met hers as he admitted his error. So far, none of the boys has said a word to my folks."

Do they leave you alone—afterward? She couldn’t resist asking.

For a while, his lips twisted upward wryly. Until they forget—and I have to remind them. She couldn’t miss the humor.

Raeven really looked at him for the first time. He had bright, bright blond hair, an oval face, hazel eyes, a small nose, and a pleasant, laid-back manner she couldn’t resist.

What’s your name?

Ashur. Ashur Farr. You’re new, aren’t you?

Yes. Mother and I moved here last week.

"What’s your name?"

Raeven Thorne.

Raeven? That’s pretty!

Thanks.

Why aren’t you with the other girls?

"They won’t admit I’m here, much less talk to me," Raeven commented tartly.

Ashur grinned. His grin lit his face in a way Raeven didn’t expect, completely transforming his appearance. She suddenly saw his eyes as windows into an ancient wisdom, and something about it loosened all the tension within her. She felt herself relaxing for the first time since arriving in Bendoc.

"I’ll admit you’re here, and I’ll talk to you whenever you want, Ashur told her. You may have to prod me; I’m not known for saying much."

Really? Raeven’s eyebrows rose. You talk just fine to me!

Yeah, I suppose—but I’ll get over it in a minute and you’ll have to pry the words out of me!

She laughed. What were you watching when I knocked you out of the tree?

Come on, Ashur said, bounding to his feet and offering her a hand up from the ground. He guided her to a perch in the tree beside where she found him earlier. Raeven discovered very quickly that Ashur didn’t need to speak many words to say volumes. She also found he was an excellent tree-climber when they ended up near the crown of the tree, looking across the valley around them.

Their unexpected tussle turned into the first of many very special experiences.

Year 100

Ashur faced a similar situation with his mother upon arriving home. When are you going to give up on this running about, Ashur? his mom asked as he entered the house.

I dunno, he mumbled. I don’t want to. Besides, Ashur thought, the responsibility for carrying messages across the colony gives me the chance to escape Dad. He thinks I’ll never be able to take on adult duties because I don’t do things his way. I wish he could learn to accept me as I am!

I think it’s stupid, she told him, unaware of the thoughts echoing in Ashur’s head. We have the phone system; people should use that. Carrying messages by hand is so slow!

I know, but sending a handwritten message is much more personal. Ashur replied. "The phone system isn’t private. You have to go to the message center and wait while they summon the person you want to talk to—and every station in the colony can hear what you say.

I can’t explain why people send handwritten messages very well, but I’ll try. He half-closed his eyes in concentration. "There’s something special about writing a message and sending it by messengers that adds value to the meaning of the message. The fact that one person created it just to send to the other lets them share an experience through the exchange of written words. I don’t know how else to describe it, but it’s more than just a message. It also permits complete privacy—because we never open what we carry. That’s part of our trust with the members of the colony—that their messages will remain private."

She sighed distractedly. They discussed this before—many times. Mrs. Farr changed subjects. You always come back so dirty—and smelly! she protested.

Clothes wash, Ashur noted. So do I.

I don’t like you being gone carrying messages, and I don’t like you hanging around with that girl! You’re just eleven years old!

Yeah, Ashur agreed sadly. His face brightened. Dad does, though. Sort of, he thought, his expression changing to a mixture of emotions that tumbled together into unease. Dad approves my contributing, but he wishes I was here all the time under his thumb instead of out of his reach. I wish, in a way, that I didn’t have to grow up so fast—but at least I have Raeven for a teammate—she’s smart and fun!

Ashur sighed.

I know, his mom agreed sourly. I wish I could change his mind.

Ashur didn’t say anything. He was grateful his father accepted the idea; there was no telling what other way to keep him out of trouble Dad might have found…

Why don’t you get cleaned up? You smell like you’ve been rolling in the mud.

Yes, Mother.

Do it quietly, too! Your sister’s asleep! His mother called softly as he walked toward his room.

Ashur waved a hand in agreement as he went to his room, gathered fresh clothing, and locked himself inside the bathroom. A long, relaxing shower was exactly what he needed. The tingly spray of water carried away the dirt as he rubbed soap over himself, and the splashing water brought forth memories of how the running argument with his mother started in the first place. ‘Running’ argument, Ashur snorted with a grin, despite the splash of soap entering his mouth. Oh, boy, that’s an accurate description! Day after tomorrow we’ll celebrate the Lalor colony’s centennial anniversary. It doesn’t seem possible so much could happen since I met Raeven two years ago—and those events, too, involved the annual remembrance of our arrival here…

Year 98

The day after he met Raeven, Ashur lost no time telling his tutor about her. Ideas were already forming in his active, nine year old imagination. Raeven was so much like himself that Ashur knew if he pulled in just the right way, she might be the welcome relief from his years of boredom and torture.

There’s a new girl in town, Ashur said as he spread finished work for his tutor.

Yes, Ashur, the man smiled. "I’ve heard. I’m going by to find out about her work when I’m through with you." The man’s tone took the sting from the sentence, making it more banter than reprimand. Ashur’s work, in most areas, was usually top-notch; he excelled in life sciences, local history, as well as written and verbal communication skills—despite his tendency toward keeping his lips sealed. Ashur seemed to have difficulty only in math and the math-related sciences. Even so, the boy worked hard; he wanted his tutor to be pleased with his work.

I’ve met her, Ashur offered.

Oh?

Um hmm, he confirmed. She likes animals, knows all about plants and things, and likes being outdoors.

Sounds like you’ve found a partner in crime.

Ashur grinned. "Am I that obvious?"

No, the man assured him with a smile. I know you too well!

Ashur laughed.

You never short your work or its quality, so I don’t complain.

Thanks. Ashur hushed so the man could examine his latest efforts. His patience was rewarded moments later.

This is excellent, as usual, Ashur.

Thank you.

Okay. The tutor pulled materials from his satchel. Today’s lesson…

Ashur bent his head to pay close attention.

I know this kind of math is difficult for you, the tutor said at Ashur’s glum expression when they closed their materials, but I want you to give it your best effort. I’m confident you’ll master it.

Yes, sir, Ashur reluctantly agreed.

The work is due two days after the celebration.

Understood.

Good. Why don’t you get outdoors and help set up for the anniversary celebration? I’ll send Raeven looking for you when we’re done.

Deal! Ashur agreed enthusiastically as they left his home.

Bendoc village contained about forty families and a few extra singles, adding up to a population close to two hundred men, women, and children. It nestled in the valley between the Toolongi hills and the Jumbunna hills. The Indigo River, known for its soft water and deep fishing pools, flowed past the village as a sedate stream that never flooded on its way down the valley. The river swung in easy curves as it flowed downstream. The village used the grassy banks on either side for many different projects and gathering places. The Indigo River grew from natural springs and mountain snowmelt. The village gathering square stood beside the path along the banks of the river. The musicians’ platform used the river for a backdrop tonight.

Raeven found Ashur attaching garlands of brightly colored flowers to stall frames and counters surrounding three sides of Bendoc’s open gathering square. He’d been at the job for some time, judging by the number of completed fronts; he was on the final booth of the second side. She watched closely as he worked. Ashur wasn’t just attaching the garland, she saw. The garland formed from four continuous strands of multicolor flowers woven together. Ashur braided the strands as he went, using a more than basic technique. The complex twists ensured that every variety of flower appeared on prominent display in the garland. Ashur possessed skills in surprising areas.

The Lalor Colony celebrated the anniversary of its founding on the tenth day of each year, Raeven remembered. The first settlers needed that many days after their arrival to create a temporary camp that later became the capital, Avenel. Once the camp was ready, though, the settlers celebrated arrival on their new home with a feast and bonfire. That tradition carried through to today. This year marked the ninety-eighth anniversary of the Lalor Colony’s founding.

Boys older than Ashur banged hammers as they assembled the booths for the third side. A low platform stood on the open side of the square, with a carefully stacked bonfire to the side, ready for later that night. The bonfire was set up on rock paving with a stone border built around it to prevent lit logs from rolling away and starting an unexpected fire. Far in the distance across the river, a tall tower rose from among the trees. Perched at its top was a cylindrical object that Raeven knew was a repeating unit for the colony’s wireless telephone system. A single wire attached to the tops of poles led from the cylinder’s tower, quickly disappearing into the landscape as it marched back to the power source.

She looked around the square. The village girls made their way through the booths, covering tabletops with cloths and adding decorative touches here and there. Everyone seemed busy.

Raeven watched for a few minutes. The hammering disturbed the peaceful scene for a bit and then faded away. Nice job, Raeven complimented over Ashur’s shoulder.

Thanks, he replied as he fastened the middle part of the garland so it dangled evenly with the rest of the loops along the row. Ashur glanced toward Raeven. She was dressed in pantaloons that nearly doubled as a skirt, a top cut in a way that definitely said girl, and had a short necklace of small, white, smooth stones around her neck. He gathered the garland strands into his hands and continued braiding them. What did you think of him?

The tutor seemed okay, Raeven answered. "He was pleased with my science and communications, but really liked my