So there you have it. Elyan had his dance with Iris Blue. It's all up to them from here.
Goodnight, sweet, lovely Marda. I love you.
Night 48
Dear Marda, So today being Monday, I went on in to the school and told a story just before lunch. It works out nicely, because then I get a nice hot lunch I don't have to cook. Even better, it was the Kimura's day to bring food, and Makoto brought kitsune udon and neat little nibbles in small square bowls; rice balls rolled in decorative seasonings, sliced omelet rolls, meatballs, vegetables cut into tiny flowers. I am happy to report I am still able to adequately use chopsticks.
Randi's working on ancient history with the kids, pre-Egyptian up through ancient Greece, so I told some stories about Gilgamesh. Can't go wrong with a real classic.
Amaya Kimura's come in to act as an aide to Randi. Alis was planning to, and will still do anything she can to help, but she's also gotta take care of herself and that baby. She's no sapling anymore, and I have read pregnancy gets more dangerous with age.
After school Elyan and I headed down to the reed grove and loaded up our truck with a good mix of dead fall we collected and green, growing stuff we hacked down. As I was hacking away at a reed taller than I am, I heard Elyan yelp in surprise. I whipped around, machete in hand, some part of my mind certain he'd seen the hunter, and most of my mind sure he'd lopped off a limb.
The kid was laying sprawled out backwards on the grass, mouth open, and then he started laughing so hard he couldn't tell me what had happened. He finally pointed into the grove. There, at the other end of his point, was a monkey-like creature with a long, bushy, prehensile tail. It was sun-gold in color, fuzzy as all get-out, with enormous white shocked-looking eyes. It kept blinking at us, and every time it blinked, it looked newly surprised. The nose was soft and conical and moved around a fair bit, sniffing at the reeds and sniffing at us.
It had four limbs, each ending in a three-toed hand-like appendage with broad fingertips that I would bet were sticky or acted like a suction, like a gecko's toes, which is what they reminded me of.
From the tip of its tail to the top of its head, it was about the length of my arm from elbow to fingertips, and half of that was tail.
It scampered up and down the reeds, staring at us, blinking, tipping its head from side to side, whistling furiously at us.
“It just dropped down onto the reed I was about to cut and whistled at me,” Elyan said when he finally stopped laughing. “It surprised me, is all.”
“Troublesome little scamp, eh?” I said.
“It's kinda cute,” he said.
“I didn't see anything about these in the surveys Edgerift provided,” I said. “Maybe you found a new critter. We could call it the Elyan Monkey.”
He gave me a wry look.
“Should we try to catch it and take it up to Soren?” he asked, tilting his head questioningly. The little creature tilted its head similarly and whuffed.
“Somehow I think we're going to have a bit of trouble with this thing. Let's see. You ever make a box trap, Elyan?” So we set up one of the plastic boxes I had in the truck, propping the front side of it up with a wrench wedged into the grass, tied some twine to the wrench, and baited it with prepackaged dessert - “Apple Cobble”, package opened and just sitting there smelling interesting and waiting for some silly little monkey-thing to come and look at it.
Elyan sat in the grass with the trap on his left side, doing his best to look nonchalant, eating an Apple Cobble of his own. I busied myself with the truck. It took about half an hour, but sure enough, the little bugger scampered down from the reed and carefully, suddenly completely silent, snuck over to the box to check out the food. I shook my head at Elyan when I saw his arm tensing up to pull the twine – good thing too because the little bastard (the monkey, not Elyan) came bolting out immediately. It went back and forth a few times, once running all the way back to the cover of the reeds, where it set up a ruckus whistling and hooting, then it finally sneaked carefully back under the box.
And sat down, looking around suspiciously. And then... reached out and picked up the Apple Cobble, sniffed it, nibbled the corner.
Down came the box, and Elyan stood up triumphantly, holding up the twine with the wrench on the end. He ran over and held the box down until I could get there with the vented lid.
The whole time the little monkey was hooting and snarling and smacking the insides of the box. Very carefully – because damned if I want to get bit and damned if I want Huw killing me for letting some space monkey give his son rabies – I slid the lid beneath the box, and we flipped it over and fastened the lid down.
The vents in the lid were just big enough for the little thing to see us. It kept looking up at us, and occasionally sticking a finger or the end of its nose out the tiny bit it could fit through the vents.
We loaded it up in the front of the truck with us, called it a day on the reed gathering, and headed back to town. When we stopped in front of the science center, the little bastard was making so much noise, howling and whistling, that half the town came running up to see what we had. We all crowded around the long table in the big room, and Soren released it into a specimen cage.
It rolled out of the box and Soren slipped the cage door down. Everyone gasped and then there were coos and chuckles.
Then the little bastard, having quieted down to take stock of everything, started whuffing and pulling on its little cheeks, and then it spit right in Hisashi Kimura's face.
Well, I call it spitting, but it shot that nasty stuff right out of its little conical nose. I'm not sure I know a word for spitting snot.
“Ah...” Soren said. “You better go over to Doc's. We don't know if this little guy's toxic or anything.”
And before he even got the last word out, Hisashi wobbled, took a couple steps, and fainted dead away.
Well, that got everyone all excited. Soren clapped a plastic cover down over the cage, and between us Soren, Makoto, Elyan and I picked up Hisashi and ran over to Doc's with him, dropping him onto the cot where Harry Randolph had so recently been laid up with Jan Spring.
In the couple of minutes it took to do all that and for Doc to come in, Hisashi was already coming to.
“Little jerk packs a wallop,” he murmured, trying to sit up in an uncoordinated fashion and shaking his head. So the little bastard, as I've decided to call him, has a weapon of sorts. A nasty little weapon, unlikely to be fatal to the hunter or any of the other animals we've found, but enough to knock a threat silly long enough to make a decent escape. Doc says Hisashi will be just fine, but may have a headache. He gave Hisashi an injection of a toxin neutralizer once he verified, from the little bastard's spit, which kind of toxin he was dealing with.
Just goes to show you, just because something's tiny and adorable doesn't mean it isn't a tough little bastard. I keep shaking my head, thinking every time that little monster stuck its nose out of the vents in the box, it was threatening us.
Now we know.
Meanwhile Soren's got it caged up in his lab at the science center. So far it likes to eat green reeds and Apple Cobble.
Damned if I'm giving it any more dessert.
Elyan brought it some, though, and is calling it “Simon”.
Just wanted to warn you, if you hear a little gold monkey getting ready to hawk a lugie, you oughta dodge.
Goodnight, Marda. I love you.
Night 49
Dear Marda, I've got our house set up pretty much the way I want it to be, just needs some real furniture. I was able to pack the little red bistro table set that used to be on our front porch, that sits neatly in the kitchen half of our dome-and-crate. On it is that old robins-egg blue and cream speckled pitcher you love so much, waiting for flowers to be placed in it. Against the wall behind the table is the low, carved bookshelf from the study, it fits just below the dining area window and holds all the actual paper books I'd decided to bring with. All the windows have a flat bottom and a tall,
arched top; the dining area window is about a meter wide, with a deep sill perfect for putting more flowers in more containers. I've got some flower pots up there, filled with dirt, and I've planted daisies, marigold and geraniums.
The living room contains the folding bench from the back porch, covered in pillows and cushions I was able to flatten all to hell in order to pack. Beside the window is your easel and a table for your paint crap. Then there's the low dresser from the guest bedroom back home, the one with the painted vines and birds, with some of the oil lamps we'd refitted with LED bulbs. There's one of the rag rugs you crocheted on the living room floor, and the folding sling chair lounger.
In big pots beside our front door I've planted lavender. Behind the house, sheltered from the sea, I've cleared a three meter by three meter plot for our garden. I suspect that grass is going to be a real problem, so I've gone down to the seaside in the crate and gathered up lots of rock. Soren came down with me today and helped lift the heavier stones, and he stayed to help me lay a little front patio and a garden border.
After all that, Rumor Watson stopped in, and the three of us played cards and shared the last of the raspberry wine. Soren had to sit on the folding chair from the patio, since the bistro table had only the two chairs with it.
Rumor says the dome is looking good. She suggests curtains. I never worried about that because we can just turn the windows opaque at night time, but she says curtains help set the personality of a room.
I've given her that blue fabric with the big roses on it to make into curtains. She's trading me for the blackberry brandy.
After that, we'll have only the good bottle of wine I'm saving for the day you arrive on the robotic shuttle from the landing pad. Not this delivery, but the next one. A little more than six more weeks, and you will be here in your new home. I hope you love it, sweetheart. I'm doing my best. You never asked for more than that, but you know, I always worried it wasn't enough.
I like this place, though. It's starting to look like home. I've got that picture your sister took at our little courthouse wedding, right before I kissed you as my new wife, where I've bent you back at the waist and I'm smiling down at you with my eyebrow raised and you are grinning impishly up at me.
We look so terribly young, and so very much in love. I love that picture. I've set it up on the dresser in the living room, along with some pictures over the years – you in the garden back home, you dressed up and beautiful for some volunteering awards or other, you playing your guitar with your bare feet tucked up beneath you in the big chair back home.
You can't sing for hell, my dear, but you could play. And your laugh is musical enough for any song. Rumor looked at all the pictures tonight.
“This is your wife?” she asked.
“Yep,” I said shortly.
“She's got an incredible smile,” she said. “I can see you love her very much.”
“Hmm.”
“No pictures of you?”
“That's me in the wedding picture,” I said grumpily, and she arched a brow at me. “I like her pictures better than any of me,” I said, finally, and she nodded and left it alone.
And went on to tan me at cards.
The woman seems sweet and gentle, but I swear, somewhere in there is a gleeful bad streak.
Like I said, you'll like her very much.
Goodnight, sweetheart. I can't wait to have you home.
Night 50
Dear Marda,
I'm still counting the days, as you can see. Today was Wednesday, which meant a story to tell. I told some Egyptian tales, continuing on in our ancient world theme. The kids showed me art they were working on in the style of ancient Babylonian artifacts.
Pretty impressive, though I say that in part because I can barely draw a line without getting grumpy with it and erasing the whole thing. Anytime I try to draw, I hit the undo key more than I actually get anything done.
After that I started work on the wigamig. Hisashi Kimura, no worse for where and headache finally all gone, came on over and helped get the framework set up and lashed together. Now we let it dry out, since we used the bendable green reeds, and see how much it shrinks. Meanwhile the kids can play in it, just not on it.
I popped in to the science center to see how Soren was getting on with the little bastard. He's already run all the scans he needs to right now, but he's keeping the little bastard around because Nic Marceau is interested in its snot and he's trying to get a sample without risking it getting loose or biting him. So far Nic has failed to annoy it enough to get it to spit at him.
I went over to glare at it, but it just whistled and looked at my pockets, its white eyes all huge and crazy
-looking.
I admit, I wanted to chuckle at the silly little thing. I wanted to tell you, too, I got the vegetables all planted. I still have some wild roses I think would look very charming climbing up our dome-and-crate along with the vining grass, but Tesla Shane tells me the soil's not really acidic enough yet. She'll come by in a week or two to help me prepare a bed for them.
Wild roses are stubborn enough once they get going they should be able to hold their own against the grass, which is now about three feet high on the sides of the dome. I'm not sure it will get much higher than that, but we'll see.
It'll be another day or two before our first shipment comes in from the landing pad. I'm pretty excited, I admit. It will be nice to have a real bed again, instead of a stack of thin puffgel mattresses, one real thick mattress and a real bed frame. It'll be good to have oatmeal and real coffee for breakfast.
And tomorrow we'll vote on the town name. Cross your fingers.
Love you. Goodnight, Marda.
Night 51
Dear Marda, So the vote ended in a tie. We'll vote again in a week. I am pleased to report, though, that the two winning names were Liberty Bay and Mardabell. It's hard to compete with a little pointy-head faery, I know, but I think you got a good chance.
We also talked a bit more about the hunter. Basilio Carlo and Soren Hinrick have been looking for it, and they've seen no sign of it. They're not overly concerned right now because the herd has ranged farther out, and as we heard the hunter near the herd, it seems likely it will stick close enough to the herd to grab another meal when it gets hungry.
It appears we had only one hunter here in our gazebo – a gazebo we've still not used for a gathering since that night, as if messing with it will bring the hunter angrily back.
Of course, this means come the next Sunday gathering, I am going to set up in that damned gazebo, because hell if I'll be chased out of our places by an ugly lizard with no table manners. Still, only one hunter as identified by DNA means somehow just one creature managed to eat nearly an entire chomper in one night.
“Quite possibly, if it IS lizard like,” Soren said, “it won't even need to eat for a while now. Only time will tell, I guess.”
Speaking of Soren, Doc's taking the brace off his leg here in a couple days. Looks like it's healed up ahead of schedule. Good to be young, right? Doc just wants to leave it on another couple days to be sure.
Now Soren will be unencumbered should he choose to find another way to impress his pretty Annya that doesn't involve jumping off crates and cracking his leg. I would hope he has something in mind with better potential than that.
It was a fairly productive meeting, for a meeting. Meetings in my experience involve mostly droning and repeating and blaming. I guess it helps to have a small group of people who are really just trying to make a community work instead of a bunch of blowhards trying to get the most attention and praise.
Not that I'm at all cynical. Now that you're all updated, I'm going to go sleep one last night on this awful mess of pads and bunk, because tomorrow the shuttle comes, and I will have a real bed to set up. Just one more piece of a real home to have in place when you get here.
Goodnight, Marda. I love you so much.
Night 52
Dear Marda,
The fog
came in just as the shuttle arrived. I was up at our little landing pad with our truck, waiting for our new bed. Catrin and Cadell were out gamboling around with the other short people, climbing up the gazebo and retreating into the unfinished wigamig as the situation called for. When the heavy fog swept up the shore toward us, Catrin screamed in terror.
Huw had to sign for the shuttle while holding a frantic child who was sobbing hysterically. Finally I took her from him and sat with her in our truck, close enough to the shuttle that she could just see her dad and other townsfolk as they hurriedly stuffed everything into the storage dome for the time being. We'll sort it out tomorrow.
One more night on the crap bunk, I guess. So she sat with me in the truck, weeping fearfully, and after a while I picked her up and held her just like you see in picture books, the old grandpa and the little squirt. She just melted right up to me, her little body trembling, and without even a thought I started singing to her.
It's hard to maintain that level of fear, even a little one has only so much energy. By the time Huw was finished up organizing getting everything off the shuttle and sending the shuttle back, Catrin was fast asleep. I slid over from the driving handles without waking her so he could drive, and he and Cadell climbed on in.
“You know,” Huw said. “I never ask people why they don't have kids. It's personal and no one's business. If you don't want kids, for the love of all that's good, don't have them, right?”
I grunted. Didn't want to talk about not having kids.
“I just want to say, though, Paden,” he continued, “you got a real hand with them, and I'm grateful.”
I grunted again, but this time I smiled.
“Your kids are all right,” I said. “Mostly.” And he laughed, slapping the steering handle.
“I can agree to that,” he said, chuckling.
He drove very slowly the few feet to their dome-and-crate, stopping near the front door and hopping out. He handed Cadell into the house where Alis was waiting, then reached for his sleeping daughter.
Planetfall For Marda Page 13