by Nōnen Títi
“Wouldn’t it be great if people could live on thought energy alone, with no need for all the basics?” Anoyak asked. He mentioned that Jitsi had suggested it to him when they were in the infirmary together.
“A lot of people would die,” Jema said without meaning much more than just that, but it caused a debate between the kids over who would survive in such a case. They voted on the people they knew, including the leaders and, of course, Roilan, who in this home wasn’t very much liked. It would be interesting to sit at his home and listen to a similar conversation.
Leni told them to stop it.
“If they don’t start using that bit of brain they have, it will be too late for everybody. I warned them again about the well drying up, but they have better things to do,” Frimon scorned.
“I don’t want politics discussed here,” Leni repeated.
Jema became uncomfortable with Rorag watching her all the time, so she asked Emi, who had just mentioned wanting to do something useful on Kun DJar, what she would like to do. Emi replied that she had no special skills.
“She does too have a skill. She can fix people’s hair. She did mine,” Kisya said.
Kisya’s hair was cut at her shoulders and looked tidy. Jema had never paid much attention to those things, but within a fraction she let her mind go over all the people she saw each day. Most just tied it back without more effort than just combing it, and some people, like Jari, didn’t even do that. Jema’s own hair had grown out of control.
Emi told them that the hairdresser from SJilai had drowned in the flash flood. Nobody had bothered since. Now, with keeping warm and getting enough to eat no longer being prominent in people’s minds, the wish for basic hygiene was coming back, but Emi wasn’t sure. “What if I do it wrong?”
“You know, that goes for everybody in any job. The doctor and nurses have the same fear. At least if you cut somebody’s hair wrong it will grow again,” Jema said.
“Can I try yours?”
Jema had little to merit an objection, so while Frimon and Leni went to their meeting, she let Emi do her hair. “I’ll spread the news if you want,” she promised, but there was no need. The questions came as she met people the next day. Emi would be fine.
Nightmares and Daydreams
The social building was full of people; Daili could feel their eyes on her back. She sat alone on the high chair at the centre and her feet couldn’t reach the ground. Benjamar was pacing the floor in front of her, up and down, as he did when deliberating. The picture on the wall was of a seakabin, but only its stern was above the surface. She was sinking, while the tall man above her demanded that she tell him about the boy.
“He was on the ground. He was injured. I had to help him.”
“Was the girl there?” he asked next.
“But she didn’t know.”
“I asked if she was there!” his voice thundered.
“Yes,” Daili answered.
The audience began to whisper. “Deserter!” they called her.
“So you left her?” he asked.
Daili started to run, but the children followed her. The dark-eyed boy was with them.
“You left her,” the man called after her. “Admit it.”
“I didn’t mean for her to jump. I had to help the boy.”
“Talk to me,” Benjamar said. “You have to tell me.”
Daili opened her eyes to Kalim sitting beside her. “It’s okay, wake up,” he said.
She let him pull her into his arms. Her face was wet from real tears.
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “You were dreaming again.”
She nodded in the semi-dark of the room and tried to calm down, lying against his warm body.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.
But Daili had no idea where to start. It was too complicated; she understood only part of it herself. “I want to get away for a while,” she said instead. “I talked to Kalgar yesterday. I told him I want to go on this expedition.”
The second exploration party was to check out a big part of the continent with the aim of starting a second settlement. Not Aryan, who had opted to try his luck at sea with Erwin, but Kalgar would lead it, and he had promised Daili to inform her when the list was finalized. She had wanted to tell Kalim last night, but Laytji and Tikot had quarrelled and there had been no chance.
“You’ve got to do what you want to do, Daili, but it’s going to be a very long trip,” Kalim answered.
She ran her hand through his beard and admitted that it wouldn’t be easy being away so long, but she could be of more use there. “The girls do their own thing and Tikot is closer to you anyway. It would be for a station, maybe.”
“A Kun DJar station is still half a DJar year,” he answered.
Daili didn’t like constantly converting to DJar standards. One Kun DJar station could find them a better place to live permanently. “If you really don’t want me to go, I’ll ask Sunya,” she said.
But she desperately wanted to go. Her fieldwork was getting her nowhere: She had no references to go by; it was like digging in gravel. Every time she thought something made sense, the whole lot collapsed. It was hopeless.
Then there were the ongoing arguments about water shortages and land destruction. There was less than a moon left in Station Four, less than thirty days before the announced elections. Six people had responded to the idea of getting a place in the new government but the battle was between Roilan and Frimon. The contest and rallying wasn’t so much about getting a place in the government – they all would – but over what the focus of the colony should be. As if Frantag and Kalgar wouldn’t have the last word anyway.
Though food was no longer a burning issue, other problems still lingered: The crop farmers were far from confident that their last batch, which they tended just south of the river, would survive. The irrigation system Branag had designed was useless with the river drying up. Tigor was, to put it politely, less than happy with that, and blamed the scientists for having weakened the seedlings.
At first Daili had thought that he was the cause of Wilam’s black eye, but that turned out to be Kolyag’s doing. After that trefin incident, Frantag had put Kolyag on probation with the risk of losing his children if he used his hands again, and Kolyag had blamed Wilam for reporting it – using his hands.
There were also rumours that the well would dry up if it didn’t rain soon. Nobody knew when it would rain; there were no statistics to provide hope.
Slowly, people had started to collect their food from the distribution centre to cook inside their own homes. Big metal plates from SJilai had been cut into sheets meant for frying. It was better than kitchen duties and lack of choice, but fuel was also a problem. There was enough peat at the moment for the small fires in the homes, but it wouldn’t last. Large sections of the orange field had been turned over to get to it, destroying the habitat and food supply of the self-feeders, which Frimon’s followers strongly protested.
Roilan had all his hopes on electricity, a revival of that power plan they’d once shown Daili before the storm, this time to be located in the dunes east of town. His promises were repeated by many and believed by many more, but Daili knew they were based on wishful thinking, since, though wind was still plentiful, a large part of that design had depended on water power. A trickling river would not move a simple waterwheel, let alone a hydro-electric turbine.
Neither was there much hope for fossil fuels. Daili had done her best with the remaining limited equipment and the scan-map Aryan had brought back from SJilai after the storm, but she had found no evidence of anything worth mining for. The starches seemed to be the only regular vegetation on this side of the hills, most of which was turned into the half-composed matter they dug up for fire fuel.
In the meantime, those opposing the technology made it very clear that they were not happy with Daili’s efforts. Twice she’d found the area she’d marked off and charted destroyed and some of her tools had gone missing, incl
uding the last drill. She’d told Frantag about it, and he’d responded with stricter rules: nobody allowed to leave the town area between Kundown and Kunup. They’d even placed guards with immobilizers near the site, which, of course, only increased the anger.
The girls each supported a different camp. They argued about it endlessly, each trying to convince Daili, and the closer to the elections, the more intense the debates. Laytji called Roilan an evil sociopath, a word she would have not chosen herself. Hani declared Frimon possessed by the devil, even if she didn’t believe devils existed. Out of sheer desperation, Daili promised to go along with each of them to listen to the speeches so she could make her own opinion.
Frimon called for a new water well. He stressed that the existing well was drying up, that it needed a better location, and priority was to protect clean drinking water. He literally said that “the crops from DJar can wait” – which wouldn’t get him any votes from the farmers – and that it was nonsense to look for progress if the basic needs were not taken care of.
Daili agreed with the need for hygiene and safety, but wasn’t fuel for warmth and cooking also a basic need?
“The new rules will be increased until it is once again predetermined where we are allowed to walk and meet; individual rights will be lost,” Frimon warned his listeners, which was a statement Daili would have expected from his opponent. “Roilan is destroying all the natural vegetation and he has no intention of building a safe water supply.”
That wasn’t true. When Daili listened to Roilan’s speech he merely said that they had a well and that fuel was a more pressing problem. He warned that this cold would last a long time and thus the need to keep warm came first. On top of that, they needed the fires to cook the food to prevent poisoning and disease. People would have to sacrifice a bit of nature for their survival and if that meant stricter rules, then so be it.
Roilan cautioned against the danger of anarchy, because the Society people – he referred to all those in agreement with Frimon as such – would never abide by any rules, a remark that would have sounded more convincing from someone other than an ex-user. “He has made threats about the existing well being contaminated if we don’t build a new one.”
That was also untrue: Roilan made it sound as if Frimon had threatened to purposely contaminate the water just to make a point.
Now Daili was not just less sure about which side she felt more comfortable with, but angry and sad all at once; angry about the petty threats and the twisting of truths for no other reason than votes, to be the most popular, since there were enough jobless people to work on both fuel and a well right now. She was sorry she’d not insisted that the girls come to both speeches so they could hear the lies for themselves. They’d never notice if they only listened to one side; they just repeated what they heard. Branag and Tini supported Roilan and filled Hani’s head with ideas, while Laytji was fully involved with the new Learners – she was now an assistant teacher – and heard only Jema’s one-sided view, but nobody had heard Daili. How many people had come to her at the trefin to say what a great speech it was? All those words she’d worked so hard to get right were already forgotten. People had chosen sides.
Daili told the girls she would not vote and she didn’t want to hear any more political discussions. “The only thing I want to hear is nice music.” Just something as simple as a recorded partikel would be fine, but most of the players that had been taken from DJar had been lost in the storm, and the rest had suffered too much from the climate to function. To hear a beautiful voice, to hear Anni singing instead of this bickering all the time… for that, Daili would give just about anything.
At the start of the third kor of that moon, Daili was already utterly exhausted when she walked Tikot to his first day of Learners. After yet another nightmare, she now had a bad headache from the effort it had taken to convince Tikot to give Learners a try. The only reason he eventually gave in was because Doret would be there.
It was like history repeating itself: Daili had done this first-day thing with Anni and Laytji more than once on DJar, on SJilai with Laytji and Hani, and now she found a similar chaos as before with people arriving without knowing where to go. Jema was sitting in the corner, but it was Laytji who did the registration. Another man, one of the original teachers, was entertaining the children with a game, their voices muffled by the clay walls and the rug on the floor. It didn’t look half bad.
“How is it going?” Daili asked. “You don’t have many supplies.”
“We’ll manage. At least we have a fire to keep them warm,” Jema answered.
“Yes, first things first.”
Each of them looked around the room.
“Do you need any help?” Daili asked, not wanting to give up on this little bit of contact.
“No, thanks. We won’t have many children.”
“Will you let me know if you do?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I had better go home then. Good luck,” Daili said, and turned to leave.
“Daili, wait. Do you have a minute?” All of a sudden Jema’s intonation was no longer that of exchanging trivial pleasantries; it sounded real.
“Of course I do.”
“There’s something I think you should know about.”
Daili walked with her, away from the other people. Her heart was in limbo between joy from Jema’s attempt to finally talk and worry that it could be something about Laytji that she didn’t want to hear.
“I understand that you had a difficult time at Learners when you were young because you were bullied. A friend of mine recently told me that she knew you then. Her name is Leni. She’s here, on Kun DJar. She wasn’t sure if you were aware of that and she told me she’s really sorry about losing you as a friend.”
Daili had no idea what to say. She had expected anything else. As her mind put the pieces together the now familiar, imaginary cold hand squeezed her heart; she’d remembered being that young only these last few moons; remembered a childhood that gave her nightmares. Now Jema was telling her Leni was here. As was Frimon. Of course he was! Now she suddenly knew what she’d seen in Rorag – it wasn’t just his being bullied that had her remember; she’d also seen his father in those eyes. They were all here and they had recognized her. She’d stood there at the trefin holding that stupid speech and they had seen her!
“I just thought you should know,” Jema said.
Daili tried to nod, clamping her teeth together as the hurt boiled upwards and she had to swallow or she’d have thrown herself into Jema’s arms.
“Are you okay?” Jema asked.
Daili managed to nod again.
“Sure?”
Daili’s eyes burned and she had to hurry out of the building. She forgot to say goodbye to Tikot. By the time she got home she had a blinding headache, so she lay down and left Sunya waiting. Why had Jema done this?
The next morning her headache had eased a little, but Daili feared meeting anybody, so she stayed home, and over the next kor she avoided every chance of bumping into the people that had known her when she was eight. She took a break from her work and stayed inside during the hours of daylight. Tikot, being fed up with Learners, stayed home with her for a few days and then started going out on his own.
When Daili finally managed to tell Kalim about her dreams – and the now obvious reason for her need to get away on that expedition or she’d end up like Jari – he didn’t respond with the sympathy she’d hoped for and needed. “That’s ridiculous, Daili. If you’re going to let the Society run you out of town, you are going to be running forever. I will talk to Frimon.”
“No!” That was the last thing Daili wanted. She had fled DJar to find peace, not to start another feud. “Please tell me you won’t talk to anybody about this!”
“Only if you promise me that you won’t desert me for some long-gone ghosts.”
“I’m not deserting you. I only need a break.”
Kalim made it clear that he was less than happy.
His irritation caused a quarrel at meals, when Laytji expressed her frustration about Learners being a joke since all the older children had stayed away, after which Kalim turned on Tikot. “Who gave you permission to stay away from Learners?”
Tikot repeated that it was stupid and he hated it.
“It’s okay, Kalim. Tikot is helping Remag. He’s much happier doing a bit of apprenticing, and he probably learns more too,” Daili explained.
“What do you care anyway? You’re going on that expedition and I get to watch him all day.”
Daili bit her lip. Kalim had never yelled at her in front of the kids before.
“I didn’t know you were going, Daili,” Hani said. “When I signed up they told me Sunya was going, that they’re taking only young people.”
“…I see.” Aware that they were all looking at her in the sudden silence, aware that if she didn’t run she’d not be able to stop the flood in time, Daili left her home without her coat and without knowing where to go. Thank Bue it was dark; no risk of being seen. The warm tears made small trickles of heat on her cold face.
She walked aimlessly, but ended up at Benjamar’s home and vented her anger about the blunt announcement as if he had been the one to organize the expedition. Benjamar told her to come in and gave her a drink. “Wine,” he said. It didn’t taste like wine.
“I’ve had to live with comments like that for a long time already, Daili. It doesn’t mean that you’re useless. It just means you’re older.”
Daili hated to cry in front of him because he didn’t know how to deal with that, but she couldn’t stop. In between sobs she told him not to mind her and that she’d be okay and then more tears came.
“Something tells me this is not just because of some thoughtless remark of Hani’s,” he said.
“No.”
Only after there were no more tears to shed and she had finished her wine could she tell him all the little things that had happened, like the argument with Kalim, Tikot running away, Tini’s depression she had so long tried to help with while Tini wouldn’t listen to her worries, Laytji’s disappointment about Learners, the endless attempts to make up with Jema and her own wish to go away on this expedition. Nobody had even bothered to tell her she couldn’t go.