One Star

By KG Marian

Set in the fictitious realm of Toppledor, this is a story of a near-perfect family that receives a devastating blow. A husband and father has perished in the line of duty, and life hasn't been easy. Following the fortunes of the Bigger family as they enter the new Millenium, One Star is the middle part of the Bigger Trilogy. A mother and her fou

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vaticania Independent Press
• Release date: Oct 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781087910192

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ONE STAR . a Toppledor Tale

Copyright © 2020 by K.G. Marian

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 979-8-562-64851-8

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

Cover and interior book design by Esme

Printed in the United States of America

To my sister Mary Ann

PREFACE

Life in the realms of Toppledor greatly resembles life in our twenty-first century. There are, however, dear reader, dissimilarities meant to intrigue you. Should you choose to enter—to become acquainted with a humankind whose collective conscious is painted by a different social evolution than we we have known—you will encounter some strangeness. Imagine it’s possible to go back in time and give the kismet wheel a fresh spin. What historical events might disappear? How might civilization evolve to put us in a better place today? What changes would you hope to see? Your author only hopes you can summon the curiosity and bravado to explore such a fixtopia as he imagines.

The Bigger Trilogy offers tales of life in this alternative world told from the perspective of a mother and two of her four children. The volume you now hold, One Star, is a view through the eyes and mind of the only son. This family happens to live in a country named the Vaticanian Federation of Colonets—our fictitious USA. The natures and personalities of these characters, and others of their family and community, are broadly normal. What happens to them is occasioned by the topples. How they respond to the topples is described in vernacular that reflects an alternative evolution of the English language. Indeed, the language itself is named Anglish.

You may appreciate the imperative which precludes that everything in a reimagined world did not acquire the same nomenclature. In Toppledor, a rose is still a rose, however, OK is not ok. Certain expressions of our everyday conversation will not be found, and we are fain to give you fair warning that some reader unlearning will be required. Deed?

The technological advancements are even beyond those we see in the real world. This alone will introduce devices with imagined names. The automobile (car) will be referred to as traver. Insomuch as it seems reasonable, places of commerce, occupations, and population centers have been given topplesque appellation. Meddie Bigger and her Bigger Brood reside in a small rural community, surrounding a single four corners in the colonet of Novapointe—our fictitious New York State.

It would be unreasonable to detail the content of Toppledor’s history books, yet essential to reveal that our view of world history remains intact up to the crucifixion and ascension of Jesus Christ. The assumed departure from accepted history begins with alternative interpretations and descriptions from the Apostles’ travels and witness. Christ, born Yeshua, has been assigned the name Salvar Agape, and Christianity becomes Agapeanity. The Creator is Heshem. Most important, the spread of The Savior’s identity and message is imagined even more robust and pervasive than we ascribe. The New Testament, as we know it, doesn't exist. With clarity that disallows such perversions as theocracy, holy war, clerical glorification, and bigoted denomination, an alternative canon takes its place. This Agapeant of several books conveys the Savior’s message undistorted by the early writers of ancient letters and script. The people in our tales nonetheless face the inward journey of faith formation, no imagining should discredit. The institution of Church is conspicuous—Menning is its name.

The expectation with all this contingency is simply to provide backdrop for dramas of other world characters—characters responding to mishap, opportunity, and relationships. Dramas of familiar sensibilities that won’t be renamed: Hope. Fear. Lust. Confusion. Amazement. Satisfaction. Long-suffering. Confidence. Love.

And where the lexicon causes pause, we respectfully beg your confidence; and offer this companion resource: www.toppledor.net

PROLOGUE

Taciturn Bet Bigger was the sun in the family solar system. This fact was next to miraculous, given what she endured during those fearful days years ago.

JAYSON BIGGER’S days of recent weeks elapsed with bland regularity, but he knew there verily was no such thing as a normal day. From the time he and his three sisters were rendered fatherless, he’s been learning about the topples. Another flashback of Tacy’s abduction surfaced now, as he entered the cavernous environs of the Exurban Project Center on this pleasant August morning. In the span of eight years since the ordeal, he concluded topples—life’s misadventures—would keep coming. He sensed presage even at this moment, as he angled toward the paint department.

His sisters, each in a different way, are beautiful women. Jayson’s knowledge of this fosters seldom-demonstrated pride that bubbles up in musing upon musing. However, the satisfaction he feels over this aspect of his life is sometimes tinged with a disquieting half-heartedness. He admits the latter is self-imposed, and at times speculates life would be more comfortable had they all been older. Or younger, allowing him to partition himself off to assume a quasi, nonfamilial identity. This, d’cert, is useless reverie. The ebony has tumbled. With Tacy, the youngest sibling, and the other two older than himself, he is surrounded.

As an adolescent, he filled the role of protective brother. To a point. The women, in reality as self-reliant as he, made such demand on him relatively light. That he had to supply extra attention at all had been occasioned by the loss of their father eighteen years ago. Still, that "it’s a gent’s thing" thing persisted within their sibling dynamic. The Bigger Brood clung to that particular stereotype. Here I am at the project center at Dyna-dear’s request. Choosing a paint color, his oldest sister could do herself. Judging paint coverage? She could not. Maybe I’ve put a finger on the cause of this disconcertion, this sense of being somehow trapped.

A mountainous collision noise not too far from him stunned his senses. Ohgod, not already! Instinctively, he turned on his heels toward the direction of the sound to see several customers quick-stepping to the maintenance gate at the end of the building supply aisle. He made haste to the gathering and observed a reach truck tipped forward in an awkward position at the aisle’s opposite end. His vision caught the lift operator in midleap off the truck, which all but blocked passage through the aisle. Unexpectedly, he recognized Charlee Smyleson, a good friend since acadet, who disappeared behind the machine and now out of view. In short order, he could see Charlee’s distraught face casting about—reason unknown—through the frame of the truck and then directly looking up the aisle at Jayson.

Jair, come help me! I’ve got a woman down!

Responding to his ladhood nom d’fav, he pushed aside the gate and sprinted toward the scene. After squeezing between the back of the reach truck and the shelf wall, the sickening situation became clear. Buried to the torso beneath a distorted heap of broken pallet wood, torn shrink wrap, and concrete pieces lay a body. Head and shoulders still.

The crappin’ wrap tore, Jair! I couldn’t control it! Charlee said then shouted, Yipe three-two-one! into his communicator.

Blood drain, adrenaline surge, Jayson sprang into action.

We need all the help we can get! he called out. Let’s try getting this trash off her, Charlee!

A muscular gent, an older man in farmgarm, and a jeuv lass joined them. Working in concert, they removed the rubble from atop the victim. In the process, Jayson felt a telltale sensation erupt in his left shoulder. Ignoring the implication, he bent swiftly to the side of the injured woman. Dark-haired, at least middle-aged, and wearing the signature green apron of a project center chapa, she was unconscious.

It’s Pam...my spotter, said Charlee, his voice quivering.

Jayson felt for a pulse. Nothing.

His glance at Charlee effused bad omen and caused the man to sink to the floor, face in hands. Jayson’s mind presented a vision of his own father’s body, on the sands of a Tigri desert, mangled by violence of another kind. He beat it off with self-disdain and turned to his friend’s huddled form. The EPC manager and two other chapas arrived at the scene and began to beseech the group of customers gathered to leave the vicinity. In short time the iniatrics were there, assuming practiced site management and only minz until they confirmed the hopelessness of the ment. Jayson guided Charlee to his feet and away from the horror, knowing formalities must now ensue.

Carefully refraining from speaking in platitude, he offered to take Charlee to his home where his wife and son could take over. But when two EPC chapas, obviously close associates, offered to accompany him to their rest area, Charlee looked at him with anguish in his eyes but chose to go with them. Jayson reasoned peer empathy clearly seemed in order. His friend probably would be required to stand by sooth. Wavering in his tracks, he struggled against inclination to the contrary to detach from the horrid episode.

Jhonson Air Bigger. He perceived it ironic that an ambiand overseer should be familiar-named Jayson. The eponym had been appropriated by his mother shortly after bringing him home from the infirment at birth. In addition to his having no interest in overseeing anyone, it had an adolescent ring to it that didn’t seem to fit the occupation. Maybe I’m properly where I’m supposed to be. The notion gained traction as he picked up Dyna’s three barcas of primer sealer. What exactly did he imagine might improve for him by leaving these trenches? Nothing, common sense informed. Encertenly tragedy, such as the one he so freshly witnessed, would remain an ever-present possibility of life.

Slightly shifting his left shoulder to address the discomfort caused by imbalanced encumbrance, a thought invaded. Did that poor woman have a family? He performed a self-tickout. Surrendering to ingrained pragmatism, he made his way out the store. But intimidated by his inadequate resolve, he had to dismiss a notion he should not leave. Heshem have means-miraculous. That was the uninvited echo of his mother’s voice surfacing, and he had to decide how to deal with it. Don’t read in! And next confirmation? There’s no such thing as a normal day.

As he climbed into his forest/urban traver, he recognized the Baronfeld Medquest vehicle through the frenteglass. Then exiting the kewgrid, his subsiding adrenalin released the message that at this very moment someone’s world was coming apart. One can’t yipe 3-2-1 for that. He pointed the FUT toward Caye Corners.

As he approached the signal at the plaza’s exit, his mind performed a well-practiced ritual. He would make a left, encert, but his reverie would turn the opposite way. A right turn would have put him quickly at the on-ramp to Fedway 99 southbound, and the start of his most favorite of regional drives to Crossdale, Woodsama. Making that choice would have been a good way to challenge this day’s karma. As often as he’d done so, it still gave him palpable thrill whenever he sped along those mountain cutaways. Across the Novapointe-Woodsama colonet line, past the Woodsama Welcome Piazza and the Armenia-Steevecot dam.

Drinking in the ever-changing vista of downsloping woodland that descended to the Dayoogah River plain, never failed to nourish his spirit. As he made the correct maneuver, he could reaffirm that living where these mountains were in 360-degree view from the valley floors—the rivers and byways coursing through—he never would choose to give up. He doggedly regarded himself a mountaineer. Never mind that these landforms weren’t verily mountains. Rather, glacially created sections of the Northern Oolikhanna Tableland. He took great comfort in the realization this topography stretched for so many milhas within the Twain Reaches, that new explorations were ever available to him. Jayson found it an exercise of homage to set his path into and through the countless runs and hollows that awaited him. He lived to be in motion within this realm. This ruäd, d’fact, would take him southward from the muni of Glasshire up one of those hollows—climbing to seven hundred thaps—to his home hamlet, Caye Corners.

I should yipe Ike, he thought, canceling an impulse to snatch his skyponder. He believed it likely his brother-in-law already was aware of the event but felt the need to inform him how he, himself, had been on the scene. It’ll wait ‘til you get to the farm, Jair. As he departed South Glasshire, Colonroute 225 sloped upward before him. A near cloudless day efficiently highlighted the dressings of maple, oak, poplar, and pine that flourished along the ruäd in gloryful stands. The summer foliage provided a tableau in shades of green at once familiar and new to his notice. Given wondrous August weather and detachment from muni, he was now in his element. But even the warmth of joyous sunshine, reaching his face through the frenteglass, didn’t offset the regret over life lost that lingered within his breast. Turning west at Caye Corners’ four-way stop, he traveled up the hill toward East Linnshire but then entered Dayoogah Ruäd southward toward Pony Agrims. His mind set on doing his duty.

The fence-lined gravel jardway presented him a familiar panorama. Open sky, towering ash trees, a two-story homejo, stables, and assorted stowjoes. As he kewed, he eyed Dyna walking from the homejo to one of the stowjoes, skyponder to ear, but she abruptly acknowledged his arrival.

Hola…no, not you, Tacy. Jayson just arrolled. Pause up. Letting her brother get out of his vehicle, she added, Jayson, do you know where Mur is? This is Tacy. She’s been trying to reach her skyper but Mur’s not snatching.

No, I don’t. I don’t think she had any appointments this morning. His next thought remained unspoken. A persona d’mantle should have her skyper within reach at all times. What does Tacy need?

She’s just uptagging. Her philosophy rahb canceled his two p’merid class and she’s coming home early…wondering if Mur might want to meet in Glasshire for midpast.

Lull, I’m of no help I’m afraid…d’fact, I’d like to get with her myself.

Deed, sister-mine… said Dyna against the manure-scented air, it sounds like your scheme isn’t gelling. Why don’t you just come direct up here? Listening. Ayee, that’ll work…beg’til…go safely. She dozed her skyponder. Lull, it seems our mother is still stumbling with technology... can’t say that I blame her.

Where do you want the paint deposited? he said as he unloaded her cargo.

Ahm here, I’ll take it. She deftly took all three barcas. Thank you so much for this. You know how I hate time spent in the muni.

At age thirty-two, with chestnut hair in a short trim and tanned complexion, Jayson thought she still looked as she did at eighteen. The day she married Russett Shewling.

Lull, it turned out not so much fun…—he closed the forest/urban traver door—something awful happened at the project center.

You do look a midge shaken…what’s wrong?

A fatality, sad to say. Jayson’s stomach felt suddenly off. A pallet of concrete blocks broke apart during lift-down and the debris struck a female chapa standing below.

Ohgod, my friend Saira works there! Dyna’s eyes flashed wild. It wasn’t her, was it?

No, I didn’t know the woman, but Charlee Smyleson was the truck operator. I hate to think what he’s going through tat now.

That’s truly terrible, Jayson. Did you see it happen?

No…but I was one of the first at the scene. I did what I could but it was just hopeless.

Jei, let’s go to the hojo…I’ll make tea. Slanting her head in encouragement, Dyna reversed her direction toward the aftjard of her homejo.

D’fact... he said, my instincts tell me to try connecting with Ike.

Try his skyper in a minz…come, you need to stop for a cup of tea.

Something a midge stronger might have been in order, but Jayson knew he wouldn’t enjoy such at this home. He walked back to his vehicle and snatched his skyper, and then followed his sister to the back entrance to the Shewling cozien.

Under other circumstances, this might well have been a most pleasant respite in his day. There was a tender corner in his heart for this farmstead. He admired it from a distance in his childhood. On those occasions, he and Pap came up this way from Glasshire to inspect property Captain Jay listed. How Jayson cherished his memories of those times when he had his father all to himself. It had been the Dinivan homejo back then. Unpopulated by animals, save for a black and white border collie which would dash to the ruäd edge in case they came to see him or her. The property hadn’t been Dyna-ized yet.

Dynamic Von (Bigger) Shewling’s spirit was so similar to the Oolikhannas—always elevated but never pointed. Come to think of it, he loved how she provided that to his existence in the same 360-degree way those bastions of the valley skyline seemed to reassure him. Too unpredictable to be boring, she could converse him into a better mood with ease. Although, perhaps the root of that assessment was to be found as contrast to his own occasional employment of guile should it serve his agenda.

She didn’t seem to ever calculate anything. Too busy breathing, accepting, cooperating. He’d never seen her strike out at anything, be it animal, vegetable or mineral. Ahm near never, but she occasionally abused a tenz ball. But even that transgression, she committed with neither ire nor obsession. And when astride one of her horses, her instructions always were verbal or telepathic. The beast served not as slave. It became her partner. In the past, he pondered whether this simplicity of nature was a product of gene mutation or divine intervention, like the immaculate conception. Considering how infrequently Dyna spoke of pious matters, he opted for the former. He found, most of all, that he loved how this sister let him be himself. D’cert, Jair! It’s all about you! A blush of guilt ripened, knowing her nature would allow nothing less. He knew before she served him, she would put the mixed-mint, herbal tea cartel into his cup, always remembering his preferences.

Is Russ home? He could hear the muffled sounds of electric guitar strokes played in practice.

No, he’s off ticking back on an injured black angus. Arjay’s here…I’ll go let him know you’re on the premises.

Please, don’t do that, he implored with a mild grimace, "if you don’t mind. I know he and Bobby Smyleson are friends. You’d be the better one to tell him about the accident…should he get inquisitive. Besides, he’s absorbed in popjango pith tat now…although I know you might prefer to interrupt."

Zam! 2009 hasn’t been a very good year for that family thus far…considering Sunya’s health issues and now this. Maybe Mur can provide some healing attention here.

I hope she does. Sipping the mint brew, he wondered why hot tea was still satisfying in summer weather. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just give Ike a quick yipe here…tick out what he knows about this thing.

If you think of it, ask him if he and Annie will be here for Arjay’s birthday curim next Wednesday.

Mur’s cooking…verit? Another facet of his good life was Meddie’s Maregrandean artistry in the cozien.

He touched Mykin Hawksing’s symil on his skyper display and strolled out to the aftjard, and commenced a to-and-fro pace in preparation for skyper conversation. What in the world compels me to do it? he questioned time and again. No rationale presented itself to explain why it helped him focus. He passed by one of Dyna’s raised-bed gardens and complimented himself for recommending the method to her. The composting process took some time but, Just look at the size of those onion tops now, he whispered.

Jei, Jair, how’s life on top? An immediate mood-lift for Jayson to hear his brother-in-law’s mellifluous tone. This simple signature greeting offered reminder of their uniquely formed relationship. Appreciating the tricks of double meaning in their conversing was only one of many established mind matches.

Better than in the valley I’m guessing, Ike. He halted and peered at the ground. I’m yiping to find out if you have gotten wind of the accident at the Exurban Project Center around ten a’merid. His history with Mykin Fin Hawksing, editor of the Baronfeld Tablet, engendered the occasional use of reporter-speak between them.

Yes, it came over the scanner. I’m at the office now, stuck with budget work. I sent Gail to Kanooshore ten minz ago…can’t tell you much.

I was there when it happened, Ike.

Lull, that would ruin one’s manepast. Are you deed, brother?

I’m fine… he lied. I didn’t verily see it happen. I can tell you that it was a pallet of concrete blocks breaking apart and falling from maybe fifteen thaps off the floor. The victim was a female chapa.

Anybody we know? Mykin’s voice pitched a midge.

No, I’m hoping you might have information, but…Charlee Smyleson was the truck operator lifting the pallet down.

Owsh! How’s he doing with it?

Shaken, d’cert, but I left after the iniatrics arrived. I can’t think about what shape he may be in.

Lull, I should be hearing from Gail soon. Where are you tat now?

I’m at Russett and Dyna’s, but I’ll be leaving soon…I would like to find the good donator.

Feels firm, chappy. Is the Summit still go for tomorrow evening? Another mood-lift supplied. Jayson almost forgot today was Saturday.

Is the sky up‽ He unconsciously sniffed. I can smell the Durius Valley just thinking about it.

We’re synced. I’ll let you know if I learn more. Keep the high ruäd, Jair!

Thanks, Ike…I’ll do my best. Beg’til. Then he remembered. Ahm Ike…Dyna wants to know if you and Annie are going to make Arjay’s birthday curim this Wednesday.

Bell-fitted! We wouldn’t miss honoring our favorite nephew. An arc toward humor, given the lad was their only nephew.

Dozing the skyper, Jayson issued an unstoppable deep sigh. He paused to note the depthless blue of this spot’s canopy. The sky can’t appear deep without the presentation of cloud. He imagined it looked the same all the way north to Sudfin Landing and all the way south to Athirtyn. At twenty-eight, I should not be surprised when life turns unfairly, he reflected as he reentered the homejo, ruefully adding a bruised ego to the day’s events.

"Our brother-in-law said that he and Annie will be among us Wednesday," he said to Dyna afresh.

That’s good…Arjay will be elated about that. Can you believe our lad will be thirteen?

I can’t. Do you ever speculate on the influence Pap might have had on his upbearing?

Ayee, but I think Gia Shewling is a good role model. The better question may be…when are you going to get busy and provide Captain Jay another descendent?

That, he thought to himself, would entail bringing yet another woman under my paratent of concern. I’ll attend on that…maybe in the fifth week of next month, he said, eyebrow raised. "In the meantime, mother-sister, I’m going to head out and see if I can locate Mother-Meddie. I will see you Wednesday…if not sooner."

Be encerten to let me know what more you hear concerning the accident. Tell Mur I said hola.

"I will…tell Magist Guitar Man I said hola."

He made for the door thinking he’d done well, skirting his least favorite topic and decided he would look first at the anchorage office.

DRIVING BACK to Caye Corners, he struggled to recall what he intended to do today before the awful event intervened. There was no firm plan since his show-property calendar was pitifully blank. He had no skygrams from Luria but probably should tick his courient at the parocasa. If he had time later, maybe he should call on Mst. Marbleton to see if he was ready to list his farm. Thankfully, the ambiand council meeting wasn’t until next week.

As he reached the anchorage jardway, he saw his mother standing over the flowerbed at the building’s front steps. His emotions predictably turned.

Just the sight of her, without fail, caused his regard for this woman to well up in a wave of heartfelt thrill, as if she were his life source even beyond fruit-of-the-womb essence. That which dwelled within Donator Meridawn Lea (Allever) Bigger was seared into his psyche in an image of her nestled in the arms of Captain Jay, radiating simple and complete love. If only everyone might find their way into the kind of married relationship those two crafted. He knew there wasn’t much hope for him. Never, in his twenty-eight years, had he experienced hurtfulness over something she might have said or done to him. And every day, he felt the warmth of that Meddie-love spilling over into his being.

A glance as he entered the jardway caught her acknowledging him with the gesture she reserved for her only son. With both hands at ear level, palms outward and wiggling, she flashed the grin that conveyed her joy he made it home safe. The last thing in the world Jayson wanted was to be regarded as a small lad, but Meridawn could perform this without insult. This pet gesture was her memorabilia of the open-armed squat for his dash to her embrace, which she did so often during his childhood. There had been less than three ments since he left her this morning, but he was deedint.

There you are! You’re just in time to help me pull some weeds. How’s your morning going?

Not golden, Mur. I see Tacy’s not home yet. His baby sister’s hybrid traver would have been kewed at the parocasa across the ruäd.

Ahm no, she has a class this aftmidia. She pulled off her gardening gloves.

It was canceled.

Goodness, I wonder why.

Can’t say…but she yiped Dyna while I was just there and said she couldn’t reach you to explain.

Ahm, Kayte and I went to the Wren for coffee and I left my skyponder in the traver. I’m forever doing that... carn it! I’m sorry I missed her. She laid a hand on his arm. What’s gone awry with you? Nothing serious I hope.

Could we go inside? I need to get your input on the matter.

As they walked to the anchorage’s rear entrance, he briefed her on the recent horror. He collapsed into the stuffed chair in her office with a drawn-out exhale. Still sorting out his feelings.

I just can’t stop thinking about Charlee.

What a terrible thing to happen! said Meddie. I’m encerten it will be hitting news media tonight.

Ayee, I’m crossing my fingers I don’t get approached…I encertenly don’t have any special perspective.

Don’t you think Charlee will get a handle on this…given time?

You didn’t see his face, Mur. He looked as broken as the cement blocks strewn about…and as misplaced. I wanted to be there for him, but there was no path…at least not that I could discern. Now I’m struggling with what should be done next.

Her eyebrows lifted, and he regretted his display of irresolution.

You are getting way out ahead of this, Jayson. The best that can be done at this point is to stay close and pray…just like you’re doing tat now. You have just said a prayer, you know. Heshem know that there are many hearts, at this very ment, caring about everybody involved. Listen, here’s what I can do… She reached over to a dispenser of notepaper she always kept available, and pen taken, she squinted at Jayson. I’m going to write a simple note to Charlee and Sunya, telling them to yipe if there is any way I can be of help. I will go down to Glasshire as soon as I can and leave the note in their courient box. That’s a donator gesture, I know…but guess what? When it’s received, it will convey that it comes from you too.

I suppose that will have to do, he said, wishing for more. I don’t even know who the dead woman was…except that her first name was Pam.

"Then you do know who she was, and you can insert her into your prayers. Jayson, it’s the sincerity and sympathy I’m hearing in your voice now that’s important for the pure present. That’s blessed preparation for whatever role you are to play in what’s to come. Have you heard from Mykin on this?"

I yiped him from Pony Agrims…he has sent Gail Rimset to see what she can gather.

Lull, I’ll be very surprised if I don’t hear from Sunya in a duplance. Let’s go and see if your sister is home yet. Those weeds get to live another day.

Outside, they noticed Tacy’s green Sabil Tern was at the homejo. As they crossed the ruäd, Meddie hooked Jayson’s arm and pulled him tight.

I haven’t gotten Arjay anything for his birthday yet. What do thirteen-year-olds go for these days?

I might have an answer to that if Arjay were an average thirteen-year-old. Annie would be the one to consult. I, by other hand, will give him a twenty-five-geolahr cartagift to use on Bodega Viant.

Entering the parocasa’s cozien, they came upon Tacy spreading mayo on bread.

There you are! she said in her bell-like voice. I—undoubtedly feigning egotism—am packing a picnic midpast and intend to eat it over at the Nature Center. The sunshine is gloryful and I can commune my poor overworked student’s brain into quiet rest. Anybody care to join?

Jayson and his mother exchanged glances with him taking the lead.

Ahm, not this time, Mockinbird…I’m afraid my mood doesn’t match. I was part of a penny grim scene down in Kanooshore this morning…I’d better uptag you.

Ahm, this does not bode well…

Her beautiful expression dropped as all three instinctively took a seat at the cozien table, and yet another account of the accident spilled from Jayson’s memory. He hoped it would be the last time.

Ahm, ahmadear, ahmadear…may Heshem help everyone involved, Tacy prayed.

As encertenly They will, my dear, said their mother, and since it will be some time before we know any more about the situation, why don’t we all just get some midpast?

Jayson felt another cup of hot tea was karmata. After setting the domeboy to boil, he unwrapped a snack bar while Tacy returned to her sandwich.

It was insult added to injury that his baby sister’s irrepressible spirit had been diminished by this. Not that he, for a divment, believed it wouldn’t spring back. Taciturn Bet Bigger was the sun in the family solar system. This fact was next to miraculous, given what she endured during those fearful days years ago. Even now with her back to him, her long dark hair hanging loose in casual sections, he could picture with precision her most incredible smile. Her habit was to wear her hair in a different way about every other day. It might be braided, gathered in a ponytail, or atop. Whatever the face-frame, her wide mouth when breaking upward in synch with shots of spark from dark hazel eyes, revealing a dazzle of teeth set perfectly, always made smush of the chosen benefactor. Be they male or female. She was just, fact plain, one of those rare women who radiated joy and captured endearment without conscious effort.

Are you still going to Greyim Grove, Tacy? Jayson considered going with.

She turned around. No, I don’t think so.

He’d been noticing that, at twenty-four years of age, her figure showed the most subtle suggestion of maturing into the classic rounded thickness of Allever women. Annie was even farther down that ruäd while Dyna kept the thinness of her mimura. Point of fact, Tacy was his baby sister no more.

I’ve decided that I could use some practice, she continued. I’m going to run through ‘Ave Miranda’ a few times. It will feel like I’m praying for everyone.

Such were the living skills of Tacy Bigger.

I have to drive into Glasshire, spoke Meridawn. I’ll stop by the Smyleson hojo and then comp a few groceries. Thank goodness my leccion’s ready for tomorrow.

Jayson decided to launch eastward and visit the Marbleton farm. Maybe the crusty old gent would be in a mood to natter. It was time for some diversion therapy.

Wednesday arrived with not much detail about the EPC incident and its victim coming to light. At least Jayson could refer to a last name now. Golden Pam Bairette, age thirty-four living in Miller Mills tat across the colonet line, apparently had no next of kin. There had been nothing learned at Sunday Worship, although at that ment the event was still penny fresh. None of his contacts at the project center had been able to add anything either. Save the gossip she lived with some man in that hamlet and traveled the twenty-five milhas to her job. At their Sunday Summit, Mykin surmised that if any additional background yet surfaced, it would have to come from inside sources. Encertenly, an element of mystery surrounded this matter.

His mother shared a conversation she had with Charlee’s wife at Tanbricks yesterday. Sunya expressed real concern for her husband’s state of mind as she uptagged the donator on the aftermath at the Smyleson homejo. Because Dyna suggested it, Meddie invited the family to come to tonight’s birthday curim. There was basis for this since Arjay and her son, Bobby, were friends and maybe a small show of support such as this would be bonmedic. For his part, Jayson liked the possibility it might provide opportunity for him to reconnect with Charlee.

He sat now in the room of the parocasa that served as his office, pouring over the local building code but anticipating other matters of the day as well. There was tonight’s gathering at the Shewlings. Also, the matter he wanted to take up with Wes Corraze at the aeronex. And then. Then there was the hypothetical conversation he’d been having for days, in his reverie, with his sister Annie. At the thought of this last issue, he abruptly surrendered to an urge for some fresh air. Grabbing his can of sassyfrish, he rose to make his way to the aftdeck.

Outside in the warmth of early aftmidia, he occupied the reclounger where he intended to focus once more on Angelix. When it came to their relationship, Jayson had one, hard-fast, self-imposed rule—gather thoughts then engage. Never the other way around. Angelix See (Bigger) Hawksing was a most intelligent person, but it was not out of intimidation he carefully approached conversation with her. Rather, a keen respect for her gifts of clear thinking and sound judgment. Jayson wasn’t alone in this perspective. No member of the Bigger Brood, if the situation clearly mattered, committed to action until it passed the Annie Test.

Annie’s heart was transparently kind, and she willingly filled the role of brood guardian. D’fact, at age thirty, she’d already rescued in stride on myriad occasions. It was somewhat of a bitter seed Jayson swallowed when he realized it was she not he—the family male—who possessed this quality. It frequently occurred to him that, among the siblings, this sister was the most equitable blend of Jhonest and Meridawn Bigger, and history firmly demonstrated that her own self-confidence inspired confidence within the others.

Annie not only had a firm grip on life but also a firm grip on life in several languages. Her department at Prancer Lig. consistently called on her to travel the globe, plying her linguistic skills. And then there was her marriage to Mykin Fin Hawksing. Here was a team whose lifestyle included some social swarming Jayson never cultivated, supplying him with touchstone to the larger issues of the day. Verily, his concern at this moment? Coming to a decision about the tack he should adopt when he spoke with her tonight at Pony Agrims.

The call of a crow vibrating the day’s calm air invaded his concentration as if to prod, "Make up your mind." He restated the choices he’d given himself. Should he ask for her specific opinion on the topic? Should he ask what views she has garnered from her circle of contacts? Or should he ask her to point me to an authoritative source? Encert, it was completely possible Annie would come forth in all three ways, but it was important to him to choose the best starting point.

A grey squirrel leapt to the aftdeck handrail next to the reclounger, regarding him with who-knows-what expectation. The rumble of a vehicle softly reached his ears—the first to pass by since he sat. From the heavens, the faintest drone of a small aero also embellished the ambiance. Then, deliberately listening, he could confirm the faithful presence of native bird music. Lord, I am a happy person! His decision postponed again. I’m forever ruminating, never completely satisfied…yet, I do hallow this moment’s bliss. It disturbed him greatly, in spite of it all, to think such contentment should be blocked to the likes of his friend Charlee today.

The tire sounds of yet another vehicle broke his thought, and this time he was encerten they came from the parocasa jardway. Faintly annoyed, he rose and returned inside. His entrance coincided with Meddie’s.

Can you believe how blest with wonderful weather we have been lately? I wonder if there’s a need for rainfall. She bore a market porty from Markshelves—her favorite bookstore in Glasshire. Cay topply?

Just taking a break from something very tedious. Don’t tell me you found a book you couldn’t ignore…whether there’s room in our library or not. He then regretted the unnecessary tag.

Meridawn peered over her focrims.

"I did not…thank you very much. This is Arjay’s birthday gift…although, I’m completely trusting Annie on this one. Removing a book from the market porty, she handed it to Jayson. I can only surmise that she is trying to groom your nephew toward a destiny which she alone perceives."

Jayson was no better enlightened after scanning the title. Memoirs of General Willston Tekamthi Tallman.

Ahm, no, he said, glancing over focrims he wasn’t wearing. "All I can say is Annie had better be running tandem with you on this one. ‘Galactic Battles’…this is not."

Only Markshelves might have had this in stock, Meddie said, hands tossed. "D’fact, it’s a 1990, modern-day re-edit of the original publication. But, even so…not easy to find…and not cheap. I took the cost though… because he’s my only grandson."

Her final inflection didn’t escape his notice.

If the lad verily reads this, what a book report it could provide…in a year or two. I’m not aware, however, that Arjay’s a history devotre at all…let alone one of the ‘War of Autonomy’ histories. Perhaps, the use of brilliant strategy is the driving reference here. That would supremely fit his Aunt Annie’s modus operandi.

"Lull, whatever operandi is afoot behind the scenes, mine is severely behind the proper pace. I need to get this wrapped, gather a few things, and boost myself over to Dyna’s cozien. You’ll be there by five p’merid, deed?"

Encert, I’m steering for the shower. I’ll see you there.

He was confident