by Alan Black
Slowing yet again, she resolutely walked forward, plodding one foot in front of the other, trying to point her toes, as if every inch counted.
It was four-thirty a.m. when she crossed the threshold of her front door. She did not bother trying to make it the last few yards to the bedroom. She collapsed on the couch. She thought to pull her boots off, but her feet were too far away to reach. She was too tired to move and too exhausted to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
She woke with a start. Sunlight streamed through the glass doors to her courtyard. She glanced at her data-patch. It was well past noon, but still another two hours until one. The new planetary clocks added three hours after midnight and three hours after the noon hour.
She struggled to a seated position and managed to slide out of her cowboy boots. They were lovely red boots, sitting there on the flagstone floor with bangles on the uppers and chrome toe covers. They almost looked like a scene in a country and western music video. She hated those boots and might burn them if she could ever move again.
Before long she decided the first thing to do was take a hot shower and put on clean clothes. She was not going to put on another dress today; certainly not like the long-sleeved dress she currently wore for the rainy season. Maybe she would never put this dress on again. She swore she was going to burn the dress with her boots. Shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops were the prevailing uniform for the day.
She managed to get up off the couch. She stripped, leaving everything in a trail of discarded clothing from the living room to the bedroom. She tottered on sore feet all the way to the master bath. Refusing to look in the mirror, she stepped into the shower.
Living alone, there was no need to change the shower settings so the water temperature would be perfect from the first drop to the last drip. She stepped under the showerhead and hit the button. There was a beep from the control and a blast of cold water slapped her in the face. It suddenly shut off and the control beeped again. The power monitor flashed the warning “no hot water available.”
Chapter Twelve
Having designed and built the house with her own hands, actually, with Cal’s hands, she knew where to look for the mechanical controls. No one could have been in the house when she was away. During extended absences, she locked and alarmed her home; it was an old, city-girl habit. The security system had no recorded entries; there was no alert when she arrived home last night. It had to be a simple mechanical malfunction.
She was now at war with the Halberds and the town people of Peaceful Junction. Shutting off her hot water did not come across as any kind of warlike activity. Even people with limited imaginations should be able to come up with something a bit more dastardly. Nothing felt more villainous now than standing naked, cold, tired and half-wet.
The closet with the mechanical controls was in the hall next to the linen closet. She felt the door with her fingertips. There was no heat, so opening the door should not cause a flashover fire. She stood to the side when she popped the door open to be cautious. Nothing happened. She looked at the controls. Everything appeared normal. She flipped a few switches; the readout said it was providing hot water at a steady 104.75 degrees.
The air conditioner was working. The outside temperature was already 102 degrees, but the inside was a mild 78 degrees. All the solar panels were working within specifications, although it looked like she needed to clean the dust from group number eleven to bring the electrical output back up to maximum.
She stepped to the right to inspect the tankless hot water heater. It was less than two years old and she first plugged it in about eight months ago so it was still under warranty. Getting a replacement would involve sending it back to the manufacturer on Earth—that was not happening. It would be a long time before any individual or group on this new planet could afford to build an outgoing Einstein-Rosen Bridge and a transport ship to fill with cargo to sell back on Earth. All of that was required to place a warranty repair order. She would then have to wait for an incoming ship to bring the replacement part.
She ran her fingers around the water heater case. It did not feel hot anywhere. That was a good indicator. Its design was to heat water, not heat its own case.
Then she spotted it. The solder on a wire had given way. She sighed. The solder kit was in the tool shed down the short path out the front door. Getting dressed to get her tools, fix the loose wire, and then undressing again seemed like the height of foolishness considering the closest neighbor was about three miles away.
Back at the university, she often argued with her students against nudity in polite society. Then again, she argued in favor of nudity, depending on the modesty level of the students in the discussion. She was not a prude but taking a walk outside without clothes on somehow felt wrong, even if she was the only person to ever set foot on her land. She would have been uncomfortable being nude in front of Cal, but even he was gone.
She had been naked in public a few times in her life. She had done her share of skinny-dipping in high school, and there was that one wild week of spring break at Lake Havasu on the Colorado River. She had wandered naked about their home in front of Elias more often than she could count. Still, it felt wrong. Maybe she was more of a prude than she was willing to admit. She decided she was being a little silly arguing with herself over being naked.
She yanked the front door open and stopped. She looked down into the grinning face of a four-year-old girl.
The little girl looked up at her and waved.
The sight of someone else at her door stunned Veronica. She waved back.
There was also a man with his finger inches from the doorbell. He froze, staring at Veronica.
She froze and stared back at the man.
“Oh, my God!” a woman said. “Nikki, come here this instant.” A petite, dark-haired woman rushed up, picked up the little girl and turned her back to Veronica.
The little girl, Nikki, grinned at Veronica over her mother’s shoulder and said, “My name is Nikki Johannsen and I am this many.” She held up four stubby little fingers.
A young boy sprinted across the grass with a blond man well over six feet tall chasing him. The youngster laughed as the man grabbed him and spun him around.
The man by the doorbell continued to stare.
The woman said, “Steve.” She raised her voice to a shout. “Stefan Olaf Johannsen!”
The man froze with the young boy in mid-swing. He looked at the woman.
Veronica saw the woman gesture with a quick jerk of her head.
Stefan Olaf Johannsen turned bright red before turning his back on Veronica.
The man by the doorbell kept staring. Apparently he was not shy about looking at what she was willing to show. He was a big man with broad shoulders, a strong back, and looked to be a few years older. Veronica was not partial to men with big bushy beards and ponytails, but this man seemed to pull it off, looking more like some Viking of old, than a modern day colonist.
Veronica felt a blush rising, but so was her stubborn streak. She stared back at the man. He grinned and finally looked away. Unable to contain herself any longer she slammed the door and raced to her bedroom.
Chapter Thirteen
Chuck Reynolds tried to look stunned at the woman standing naked in front of him. The sight of her was enough of a surprise he did not know what to say. He wanted to turn away politely. He should have, but he was a guy. Moreover, being male he knew men had a serious tendency to stare at nude women whether looking generated any thought or not. He wondered if it was a species survival trait or some cultural conditioning. The way the woman glared at him made him realize the human race may survive but he might not if he did not look away.
He looked away. He wished he could blush in embarrassment, but blushing was not his style. Maybe I should say something to apologize. What do I say? I didn’t do anything wrong, I just came to her front door. I was even going to ring her doorbell.
Before he reacted, the woman slammed the door. She was go
ne before he could decide how to respond.
He was certain this was Veronica Smith. This was her land and her house. By all reports, she lived alone. Who else could it be?
He turned to the couple with the children, cleared his throat and said with a little laugh, “Well, that was a lively greeting. Shall we give her a minute and then try this again?”
Chapter Fourteen
Skipping the underwear, it took Veronica only seconds to pull on thick cotton shorts and a dark colored t-shirt. She felt so dirty with sweat encrusted everywhere she did not want to do any more laundry than necessary.
She chuckled. Here she was, worried about laundry when a minute before she stood naked to the world in front of a handful of strangers. Those same strangers—the first ever visitors in her home—were still standing outside in the hot sun.
She walked a bit more stately back to the front door. She was about to reopen the door when the doorbell rang. She pulled the door open.
The man by the doorbell smiled. “I thought we might want to start over since we startled you a bit the first time.”
She returned his smile, “I will admit to being a little bit startled. Please, come in. All of you.”
The woman peeked over her shoulder. Seeing that Veronica was dressed, she followed the man into the house. Veronica thought the dark-skinned, dark-haired woman was surprisingly short. She could not have been over five feet tall.
Stefan Olaf Johannsen had his hands full of little boy energy. The youngster squealed and wiggled trying to get back to the ground. The man sighed audibly and set the boy down.
“Hey, sugar britches, I’m going to stay out here with Ransom and let him burn off some steam.” He tipped his hat to Veronica. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for the intrusion.” He raced off after the little boy.
Veronica stepped back into the house and closed the door. It only took seconds before the air conditioning sucked the excess humidity from the air and cooled the room to the standard seventy-eight degrees. She looked at her guests. She had guests. It was so unusual in itself that she was a little mystified. There were no planetary cultural customs to rely on in this situation as there had been back on Earth.
She wondered what one did with guests who showed up unannounced. That had never happened to her on Earth to her recollection. With no socially approved rituals to follow, she decided to do what felt right. Greeting guests at the front door without clothing did not present the best first impression and she hoped it would not become the custom of this new world.
The woman dropped the little girl onto the sofa. “Nikki, you sit there until I tell you to move, hear?” She grabbed Veronica’s boots off the floor and picked up her dress. She pulled a rag from her pocket and wiped the dust off the boots. “These are lovely. Where should I put them?”
Veronica pointed down the hall. “Bedroom is fine.”
The woman brushed her hands over the fabric of the dress. “This is very sturdy material and lovely, especially with your coloring.” The woman blushed.
She turned her face away from Veronica. “I’m very sorry for showing up unannounced. It was evident you were not expecting company.” She raced down the hallway to put the dress and boots away.
Veronica looked at the little girl. The little girl grinned but did not move from the couch.
The man said, “I’m the one that should apologize, Mrs. Smith. I’m Chuck Reynolds.”
Veronica shook the man’s hand. His hands were large, not rough, but they showed years of hard work. He was a bit older than she first guessed, but not by much. His eyes roamed the room. She was sure he would not miss seeing anything, as if he was analyzing his surroundings and everything in it.
Reynolds said, “I did call you and left a couple of messages.”
Veronica glanced at the vidphone. Sure enough, the light was blinking. In fact, it was blinking the number six. She had never had a message in the nine months since she set the vidphone up at the end of the last dry season. All of a sudden, she had six messages.
She said, “Sorry, I haven’t had time to listen to my messages yet, Mr. Reynolds.”
He said, “Chuck, please. And I hope I can call you Veronica?”
She asked, “And?” Her tone indicated she was not willing to be on an informal first name basis quite yet.
He said, “No? Um, well, okay. It’s a small world, news and gossip wise, so I heard about your problems in Peaceful Junction. I pride myself on being a bit of a problem solver, Mrs. Smith.”
She asked, “And you’re here to solve all of my problems, right? I heard the same line years ago from a man who wanted me to join his multi-level marketing swindle selling light bulbs and kitchen sponges. It didn’t happen then and it won’t happen today. I’m still working off a load of residual anger from yesterday, so forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical.”
“I understand, I—”
“I’m Pushta Johannsen.” The petite woman said as she raced back into the room.
Veronica was beginning to wonder if these people ever walked anywhere. All of them, except Reynolds, seemed to run, race, and then run again every time they moved from one place to another. Not that she was an expert in walking, but counting yesterday, she had done her share.
Pushta said, “And that is my daughter, Nikki. Say hello to Mrs. Smith, Nikki.”
Nikki said, “Hello, Mrs. Smith.” The little girl’s voice tinkled like tiny metal wind chimes.
Pushta said, “The tall good looking goof outside is my husband, Steve, and the bundle of energy is our son, Ransom. I am sorry for stopping by. Mr. Reynolds said it would be okay to stop and ring the bell since we didn’t get a response to our messages.”
Veronica said, “Well then. You obviously know I’m Veronica Smith. Welcome to my home, I guess.”
Reynolds replied, “Seriously, Mrs. Smith, we did try to call first.”
Veronica shook her head, fighting off another spate of blushing, “Well, I guess getting caught without my skivvies on is not the worst thing that has happened to me recently. Please sit down. Can I offer some, ah, well...I’m not sure what I have in the way of refreshments. I was going to say coffee or tea, but those have gone the way of the ankylosaurus.”
Reynolds said, “Water would be all right with me, cold if you have it.”
“It’ll have to be cold. I was going to the shed to get the tools I need to fix the hot water heater.”
Pushta said, “Oh, please don’t make a fuss for us. We’re fine.” She sat down next to her daughter.
Nikki tugged at her mother’s sleeve and whispered.
Pushta shook her head.
Veronica said, “Well, I have plenty of vitamin fortified fruit drink in about a hundred flavors or so. It’s in powder form, but we have plenty of cold water. Let me go—”
Pushta was up and headed to the kitchen before Veronica could finish speaking. “Nikki, you come with me.”
The little girl slid off the couch and toddled after her mother. She smiled at Veronica on her way past and wiggled the fingers on a tiny hand, waving goodbye to Reynolds. The big man grinned through his thick mustache and wiggled his own fingers back, obviously pleased at being friends with a four-year-old.
Veronica said, “Well, Mr. Reynolds, let’s get down to business. What do you need from me and how much am I going to have to pay for it?”
Reynolds sank into an overstuffed armchair. He wiggled a few times and sighed with contentment. “If nothing else, it was worth the trip just to sit in this chair. How could you afford to ship this?”
Veronica said, “It’s self-constructing. Controls are on the bottom and since size is all that matters going through a wormhole, it folds up to the size of a shoebox. So, are we going to talk about decorating on our new home world or are you planning on selling me flood insurance?”
“Mrs. Smith,” he said and then stopped. He restarted. “No. I’m going to call you Veronica whether you like it or not. Don’t argue, you don’t have a say so. I’m Chuck Reynolds—�
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“You said that already, Mr. Reynolds.”
“Yes, I did, but I didn’t say that I’m the produce buyer from Twisted City. Stupid name for a town, but it was on the map before I signed up for the trip. Anyway, I’m here to buy your crops. Now, before you get mad and walk out like you did on Manning Tatum, keep in mind that I am not Tatum.”
She said, “Okay, Chuck Reynolds. I’ll listen to your whole pitch before tossing you out on your ear. They’re cute ears, but I’ll toss you out anyway.” She decided she was going to like this man. He was pleasant to look at and reasonably close to her age. He had a full head of hair to match his full beard, not that she had a problem with bald men, but balding men with ponytails always looked out of place.
She felt her sexual attraction for Chuck quickening and wondered if his ponytail caused it. Down girl, normally you’re not drawn to men this fast. He looks more like a biker gang reject than a businessman, but that twinkle in his eyes gives away his sense of humor. This guy loves to laugh—and look at those large hands. Stop staring and take a breath.
First there was the man at the garage yesterday, but he was “model” beautiful making him hard to avoid. Chuck Reynolds was not a handsome man, but he did have nice regular features. She wondered if he was as attractive as he seemed or if her biological clock was raising the alarm.
She always wanted children and thought Elias did too. They often talked about having children and raising them in their new home. That was one reason they chose the agribusiness option on this planet with no name. They hoped it would give them a good start and room for a large family to spread out. Seated before her was a man who obviously liked children.