Asimov's Science Fiction 10-11/2001

by Dell Magazines

  The captain is interested, though, so I'll see what he thinks of it. Maybe it'll eventually be called the LaMarean Calendar ... that would be a hoot!

  From the journal of Dr. James Levin

  Uriel 63, 01

  Still trying to get used to this damn calendar. I know it's more appropriate to use it than the old one, but I still think this is Jan. 2, 2297. Ted's working out the bugs with the program, and once he's done we can install it in our pads, but until then I'm relying on handwritten notes from yesterday's camp meeting.

  The new calendar reminds us that we're two-thirds of the way through the last month of summer. We don't have much time left to cultivate sufficient food to get us through winter, and we don't know how much longer it'll be before the first frost sets in. We've already planted the first seven acres; the seeds are bioengineered to produce hardier strains, and we've had a couple of days of rain, so that should help, too. But the nights have been cool, and even in the last week the average daytime temperature has dropped a few degrees. Capt. Lee has directed the construction crew to build a greenhouse ASAP—Dana Monroe says her people may be able to salvage enough glass from the module windows to erect a small one—and he's asked Bernie and me to see if any of the native flora are edible.

  We've tested the tall grass (i.e., “sourgrass") that grows in abundance throughout the marshes. Not much nutritional content—probably better for grazing once we get around to decanting the livestock embryos aboard Alabama (next summer, probably—too late now, or we'd have to worry about feeding them through winter). Roots may be useful, though; properly fermented, they could be made into something we can drink. Maybe even beer!

  Large patches of a round-leafed ground vine (i.e., “cloverweed") infest large parts of the marshy areas. It competes with sourgrass [and] frequently chokes it out. Inedible, but durable and water-resistant. Have recommended it to Dana as a possible source of roofing material.

  Ball plants—big mystery. Noticed them the first day I was here, when the Plymouth made First Landing: large spherical plants, about 24"-36 in diameter, with a long flower-stalk growing from its center. Fibrous brown leaves form an outer shell almost as tough as tree bark. Grows in small clusters here and there; sometimes you can go a long way without finding another one. Difficult to examine; hornet-like insects (i.e., “psuedowasps') tend to swarm around their flower-stalks, and a couple of kids have already been stung—very painful, and their venom produces a mildly intoxicating effect. David got stung a few days ago and I found him wandering around camp, singing to himself and giggling at everything. Kuniko administered antibiotics and he calmed down; no long-term aftereffects save for a welt on the back of his neck, but we've warned everyone to stay clear.

  Sissy found what looked like a dead ball—its petals had wilted and the stalk was half-collapsed, and the shell wasn't as full as the others. No psuedowasps. I crept up close, and when it seemed safe I pulled out my knife and cut into its shell. The plant seemed to deflate a little, and a foul odor escaped, almost enough to make me want to vomit. I pulled aside the husk and looked inside. At first it seemed as if the plant was empty—hollow, like a carved-out pumpkin—but then I saw a small shape at its bottom, wrapped in fine white fibers.

  I cut through it and discovered a swamper, i.e., the ferret-like animals that prowl the marshes. Not much larger than rats, they tend to scurry away when we get close. This one was little more a desiccated skeleton; somehow it had been lured into a ball plant, which had then wrapped its fibers around the critter and gained sustenance from its decaying corpse.

  Gruesome. Yet I've been observing ball plants for the last couple of days, and noted that swampers tend to give them a wide berth. Indeed, they avoid contact with the balls, even those whose flowertops are in full blossom. And the plants remain shut, with psuedowasps warding off anything that gets close to them. So what lures the swampers inside?

  Doesn't make sense ... or at least by terrestrial standards. Once again, I'm reminded of the fact that I'm dealing with an alien ecosystem. Just when it seems as if I've found something that seems to mimic life on Earth, I find something else that is utterly unfamiliar.

  Charles Darwin would have loved this world. Or it would have driven him nuts.

  From the diary of Wendy Gunther

  Uriel 69, CY 01

  Spending most of my time on the farm. Hard work. Calluses on my hands, back sore from all the raking and shoveling. Kuniko bitches about how much sunburn lotion I use and how it can't be replaced once it's gone. Always enjoyed gardening when I was in the hostel, though, and it helps me get my mind off Dad.

  Some of the adults think I shouldn't be doing this. Not appropriate for a fourteen-year-old girl to be doing hard labor. Maybe I ought to wear black and cry my eyes out, if that's what they want. But even though I miss Dad, in the last couple of weeks I've come to realize that I really didn't know him all that well. Something I'm just going to have to work out, and that's going to take time.

  Being out here also helps me stay away from Carlos. Like him a lot—really, I do!—but he's just lost his rents, and he's taking it a lot harder than I am. Have enough problems dealing with my own loss, don't need the hassle of trying to help him as well. Since he's with the timber crew and Marie helps out in the kitchen tent, I don't see either of them more than a couple of times a day.

  Talked about this with Kuniko last night, when we were alone in our tent (Kuni—if you've managed to crack my encryption, go away! This isn't for you!). Told her about Carlos; she agrees that now isn't the right time for a boyfriend. Told her he keeps coming over to me at dinner, and she laughed. “There's nothing more pathetic than a thirteen-year-old boy,” she said. So true....

  (And besides, there's also Chris Levin. Is he cute or what?)

  Also been studying the swoops. Never paid much attention to birds back on Earth, but probably because most of what I saw were robins, wrens, etc., hanging around the bird feeders outside the youth hostels I stayed in when Dad was away. Swoops are different; kind of like hawks, but their wings are twice as long, which makes them look sort of like pterodactyls when they're in flight. They come out early in the morning, taking off from their nests in the blackwoods just after dawn, and they spend the day circling the marshes around the colony. Chris's father says they're “riding the thermals,” meaning they're kept aloft by warm air rising from the ground. But they're not up there for show. They're hunting, and that's what makes them fascinating.

  Yesterday I was out by myself in the fields, using a hoe to break ground, when I spotted a swamper sneak out of the grass about fifteen feet away, near a ball plant I was trying to avoid. It was getting close to the ball, sort of sniffing around its base—which was interesting, since Dr. Levin thinks they stay away from the balls. I stopped what I was doing and stood still, wanting to see if the ball plant would somehow grab the swamper, when a shadow flitted across me. I looked up, and bam! out of nowhere, here comes this swoop, diving out of the sky.

  Its wings remained folded against its body until the last moment, when it spread them to brake itself. The swamper never saw it coming. The swoop snagged it within its claws—probably killed it instantly—and then it flapped its wings and took off again without ever touching the ground.

  Wow! Utterly amazing! I dropped my hoe and watched it sail away, heading for some blackwoods a couple of miles from camp. Wouldn't have traded anything for this sight.

  People bitch about how hard it is to live here, and they're right—we're already on limited rations, and we may starve if we don't bring up a decent crop before winter. We've got plenty of tools, but once they're broken or worn out, we'll either have to make new ones or do without. There's boids in the marshes—come to think of it, I was really stupid to be out there all by myself—and any one of us could all die tomorrow.

  But you know what? I love this place. Never felt more alive in my life.

  I just wish I knew what happened to Dad, because somehow—I don't know why—I don't believe he di
ed the way Capt. Lee says he did.

  Minutes of Liberty monthly town meeting

  Ana, Adnachiel 2, C.Y. 01

  recorded by Tom Shapiro, Acting Secretary

  (1.) Meeting called to order at eight P.M. by R.E. Lee, Acting Chairman. Head-count shows eighty-two members present, nineteen absent.

  (2.) First order of business was formal introduction and ratification by majority vote of Colony Charter, based upon copies of the draft charter issued to all citizens two weeks earlier.

  Mr. Reese went on record to oppose Paragraph 2, which calls for the establishment of a democratically elected government, and Paragraph 3, which annuls all former United Republic Service military ranks. He stated that the colony should continue to operate under military jurisdiction indefinitely, and that all URS officers should be allowed to retain their ranks.

  Mr. Shapiro (speaking on behalf of the Charter Committee) countered by stating that an elected government will allow all colonists to have a representative voice in running the colony. The Town Council will be comprised of seven members selected by popular vote, with terms of no longer than one year (Coyote calendar).

  Ms. Newell agreed in principle, but stated that she and other URS officers objected to losing their ranks and privileges. Mr. Dreyfus stated that he saw no problem with having URS officers retain their former ranks on an informal basis, but he pointed out that if the purpose of an elected government was to put all members of the colony on an equal basis, formally retaining military rank would mean that “some citizens would be more equal than others.”

  After an hour of debate, Mr. Lee called for a motion to vote upon the Charter. Motion passed seventy-one to eleven. Mr. Lee then called for a vote to formally ratify the Colony Charter. Vote was fifty-nine in favor, ten opposed, two abstaining.

  Colony Charter was thereby passed by majority vote.

  (3.) Mr. Lee called for nomination of members of the Town Council. Under Paragraph 5(a) of the Colony Charter, any person above the age of eighteen (before Gregorian calendar 2300, or C.Y. 01) is eligible for election. All candidates must publicly announce their intent to run for office or be nominated by others, and all nominations must be seconded by at least one other adult. Eleven members were nominated for Town Council; ten were seconded.

  Mr. Lee then called for formal election of Town Council members. Vote was conducted by show of hands, with Mr. Tinsley and Ms. Geary counting. Elected were: Mr. R.E. Lee, Mr. Tom Shapiro, Ms. Sharon Ullman, Mr. Paul Dwyer, Ms. Celia “Sissy” Levin, Dr. Henry Johnson, Ms. Vonda Cayle.

  Mr. Dwyer and Mr. Reese tied in their votes. Mr. Lee called for a second round of voting, in which Mr. Dwyer defeated Mr. Reese by two votes.

  Mr. Lee then called for election of Town Council Chairman. Elected was Mr. Lee, with Ms. Cayle as Vice-Chairman.

  (4.) Mr. Lee called for nomination of members of the Prefect Office, which would be charged with enforcing Colony Law as passed by the Town Council under Colony Charter. Eight nominations received, seven seconded.

  Mr. Lee called for formal election of Prefect Office members. Vote was conducted by show of hands, with Mr. Shapiro and Ms. Cayle counting. Elected were: Mr. Gilbert “Gill” Reese, Mr. Ron Schmidt, Mr. William Boone, Mr. Antonio “Tony” Lucchesi, Mr. John Carruthers, Ms. Kim Newell, Mr. Ellery Balis.

  (5.) Mr. Lee requested reports from standing committees.

  Mr. Dwyer (Timber Group) reported that his team has finished its assessment of the available timber within three-mile radius of Liberty, and were working to cut nearby stands of blackwood and faux birch. First priority is harvesting enough wood to finish construction of the agricultural greenhouse.

  Ms. Jacobs asked when permanent shelters will be built, and Mr. Dwyer responded that work on them will commence once the greenhouse is finished.

  Ms. Monroe (Construction Group) noted that, while log cabins can be built well into winter, the greenhouse has to be finished as soon as possible. She also pointed out that her team is presently undermanned and overworked, and requested additional volunteers for the logging crews.

  Mr. Geary (Agriculture Group) reported that twenty-five acres have been cleared and planted. However, he voiced concern that harvests may fall below anticipated totals. Cooler weather is not the only problem; swampers have recently discovered the seedlings, and although swoops take out many of those foraging in the farms, the swampers still manage to devour much of the crop. Since no traps have yet been devised, he requested that Prefects patrol the fields and shoot any swampers they see. Mr. Reese agreed to this request for assistance.

  (6.) Mr. Lee opened the floor to further business.

  Dr. Okada reported that medical supplies are still available, but no longer in large supply. In anticipation of a long winter, she is keeping most of the antibiotics in reserve. She cautioned everyone to avoid contact with psuedowasps, whose sting has a toxic effect, and swampers, whose bite carries a viral infection that leaves the victim with high temperatures, temporary paralysis, and ring-shaped splotches on their skin.

  Mr. Shapiro warned people to exercise caution when visiting the outhouses and compost pits after dark. A species of nocturnal animal—"creek cats,” faintly resembling Siamese cats but much larger, about the size of border collies—has been spotted lurking around them at night. Although they tend to flee when someone approaches, some of the children have been caught trying to feed them scraps of food.

  Ms. Dreyfus asked when school may resume for the colony children. Mr. Lee said that the Town Council will take this into consideration during its first formal session, but also noted that primary education for the younger children may have to wait a couple of months longer. At this time, every hand is needed to get the colony self-sufficient by winter.

  The date for the next town meeting was set for Barbiel 3. Meeting adjourned at 11:26 P.M.

  From the journal of Dr. James Levin

  Adnachiel 38, C.Y. 01

  Beth Orr complained about a foul stench coming from the compost pit; she said it smelled like rotting meat. I couldn't imagine anyone throwing away food; we're under tight rations, and everyone cleans their plate at dinnertime. Since Capt. Lee—I still use his rank, but so does everyone—asked me to become the health and sanitation officer, I went to the pit to check it out.

  Found a dozen or so creek cats: shot at close range, skinned head to toe. No one else has access to firearms except the Prefects, so I knew where to go.

  Gill Reese confirmed that his men have been shooting them late at night. The blueshirts take the swampers they shot the day before and lay them out in the fields, then wait for the cats to come to snag their corpses. Both swampers and cats are inedible—we've tried that already, and their flesh is awful even when cooked—but the Prefects have learned to skin cat hide and cure it. The fur is soft and the skin itself is surprisingly durable; like soft leather, except more flexible and water-resistant. Schmidt has already made a good pair of moccasins from the skin of two cats, and Boone is halfway through sewing together a fur jacket for winter.

  It doesn't bother me that they're shooting creek cats for their hide. What disturbs me is that Reese's men would do this without telling anyone. They intended to keep this their own little secret, even though it's something that could help everyone in Liberty.

  Reese still wants to be boss, I think. He's going to give us trouble as time goes on.

  From the diary of Wendy Gunther

  Adnachiel 72, C.Y. 01

  Autumn is here. It's no longer as warm as it was earlier this month, and some days have been cold. We had a lot of rain this week, and the winds have shifted, with cool air coming in from the northwest. We've already started wearing sweaters during the day, and at night we've had to bundle up in our parkas.

  Mr. Geary says we're probably going to have to pull up the crops pretty soon. We haven't had our first frost yet, but he's afraid that the cold might kill everything if we don't get them out of the ground. The potatoes and carrots are ready to come up, even though
they're a little small—I'd like to give them another couple of weeks, but we may not have a chance. The tomatoes were a total loss, though—the cold snap killed all but a few bushels—and even though the corn's ready to be harvested, the stalks are only as tall as I am. Glad we got that greenhouse finished; it may be small, but at least we'll be able to grow food throughout the winter.

  Another reason for early harvest: the swoops are beginning to migrate. You'd think Liberty is far enough south that they'd want to winter here, but they seem to have their own ideas. I've seen flocks of them flying southeast, heading in the general direction of the Equatorial River. I'd love to know where they're going, but the orbital photos we download from Alabama haven't given us a clue.

  Anyway, with the swoops going on vacation, the swampers are running amok in the farm. No natural predators left, winter's coming in—party time for the little monsters. They're eating everything they can find, and they really love the carrots. Dana devised live traps for them—an open-ended box made from old shipping containers, with a small carrot inside; when a swamper goes inside, it trips a lever on the floor and the hatch springs shut—and they're dumb enough to fall for it every time. But they go berserk as soon as they realize they're caught, and the only thing you can do is go find a blueshirt, get him to come over and shoot it. At first I couldn't bear to watch, but I've become used to it. It's cruel, but what can you do?

  Yesterday was my fifteenth birthday—or at least it's my birthday back home (Earth, I mean). Still haven't figured out how to convert Gregorian to LeMarean without using my pad, and I don't want to even think how old that makes me back home (15 plus 230 equals no way!!). I didn't mention it to anyone except Kuniko, and I begged her not to tell anyone else, but...