“And I’m glad you get along so well. Susannah, are you happy?” His serious question demanded a serious answer.
She thought for a moment or two. “Yes, I am, Kossiusco. I love you and our children, I like Tildie and Karina and their children, and I’m grateful to be here instead of in a sub-sett, even if some days I work more than I want to.” She softened her complaint with a smile. “I just wish beans and tomatoes did not double overnight.”
“I confess, I got tired of beans by February, too.” He took her hand, then drew her into his arms. “How do you feel?”
She looked up into his face and saw more than just concern there. “Fine. A little tired, but I got a nap this afternoon. Everything else is back to normal.”
“Do you feel up to . . . ?” He caressed her back. “If not just say so.”
“I think I am. Let’s cuddle a little, please, and see what happens,” she invited.
He kissed her. “You are more precious than rubies, and more beautiful than all the cedars of Lebanon.”
As forecast, the first Company rover rolled onto Peilov farm two afternoons later. Basil finished feeding James and triple-checked that all his developmental records were up-to-date. I wonder, does anyone ever look at these things? Or do they vanish into an electronic fog once the system confirms that they’ve been entered? He’d had all his vaccinations as well. Tildie had objected, but Kos reminded her that it was Basil’s choice for her children, and that had been the end of the matter, at least in public. Basil took James and her fleece bundle and went to the room the family used as the learning center. “Karina, company’s here. I’ll take over.”
“Thank you, Baa.” Karina entered a code into the computer and straightened up. “Kids, remember to log out completely when you finish, and let Mom Baa see your work if she asks. No fudging your math, Carl.” The older boy ducked. “Or you, Kossina.” An unhappy sniff warned of a pending pout. “If you stick your lip out much farther, Kossina, a bird may land on it. All yours, Baa.” She went out to meet with the Company representative, leaving the children to finish their work.
As much as she grumbled about Company policies and resented the terms of the payback of her indenture, Basil agreed with the educational minima. All residents of ColPlat XI had to learn to read and write in one of the Planetary Union’s eighty-four basic languages, as well as learning mathematics through applied algebra, and general history and politics. Kos insisted on religious instruction as well, and Tildie and Karina encouraged the children—and Basil—to learn about economics. Not company version economics, as Basil discovered to her surprise, but real, ancient economics, including Hayek, Friedman, and Sowell, as well as Marx and the Corporatist School of the Late Pragmatist movement.
Basil confirmed that no one had been wandering outside the educational files, and walked around the computer room. Basil smiled, wondering a little at their luck. They’d had all the “school” computers shut down and unplugged when the first solar storm hit, while repairing part of the floor after a water leak. And the Company had gotten the educational networks up and running faster than almost anything that wasn’t food-synth or medicine related. She looked over the children’s shoulders, checking their progress. Kossina and Carl worked on math programs, John and Tamara wrote composition assignments, and Ruth watched a history holo about the early days of space colonization and technological development, taking notes for the quiz that would follow.
Education had allowed Basil to break free, and she intended for her children to make the best of what they had access to. She’d taught herself to read while growing up in the slum on Deepak’s Planet. With that knowledge and a little bluffing, she’d managed to jump out of the subsistence-level programs and into worker-track schooling. She’d done so well that her scores caught the attention of a member of the district’s educational advancement team, who recommended Basil for testing to move into administrative or scientific tracks. She’d clawed her way through the scientific track, sweating mental blood until she reached the point where she could qualify for emigration credits based on agro-engineering fundamentals. That had brought her to ColPlat IX, where she found too many agro-engineers and no work. And then she met Kossiusco Peilov.
While the children worked, she logged into the general ed net and called up continuation track learning programs—vocational. After a little searching she found “veterinary assistant/foundations of veterinary medicine I and II.” OK, what are the outcomes promised and the hours required? James fussed a little, so she held him as she read through the course of study and the lab requirements. I’ve already done a lot of the basic science through to animal genetics and diseases. And the lab work is well covered. She skimmed the list of observational requirements, checking them off her mental list. I’ve observed at least two species of domestic animals giving birth, I’ve participated in basic animal care, I’ve assisted with veterinary procedures, and I’m very familiar with the reproductive cycles of domestic livestock, thank you. Basil scrolled down to the other certification requirements. That’s not as bad as I’d feared. But could she afford it? Yes, it would help the family if she could do more, but what about her indenture. She shifted James and read the price. Well, that’s certainly reasonable, compared to some. Especially since I won’t have the observation fees, and the laboratory work fees will be much lower. As she thought about it, the veterinarian would probably waive some of that in exchange for having her assist him, especially during lambing and calving season.
Basil got up and looked over the children’s work again. Despite her protests Kossina managed a perfect score on her math test, and Basil “signed” the page. “Do you want to start the next lesson?”
“No, Mom Baa.”
“Alright, you’re over the hour requirement as it is.” Basil gave her permission, allowing Kossina to log out and go play for a few minutes. Ruth finished her test and moved to the next video once Basil agreed. After a while, John and Tamara completed their writing assignments and logged out to do chores.
“Arrrgh! I quit” Carl exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “Numbers hate me.”
Startled, James started crying. “Shh, shh, it’s OK,” Basil soothed. She walked over to Carl’s computer and looked at the display. He’d gotten ninety percent correct, well into the acceptable score range. “Carl!”
He grinned. “Fooled you. And the numbers still hate me.”
She wanted to swat him for his dramatics. Instead she said, “Here, you hold James.” A look of mild panic appeared on the sixteen-year-old’s face, and he very reluctantly accepted the fussing baby. Basil “signed” the grade report and logged Carl out of the system. “For that, you don’t get any game time until after chores are done.”
“But Mom Baa—”
She took James back. “No buts. Shoo.”
He grumped out of the study room, leaving Basil and Ruth. Basil fed James and rocked him back to sleep. Ruth finished her second holo, did well on the test, and Basil logged her out. “No, you need to go get some sunshine and do chores.”
“But Mom Baaaaaa, it’s getting exciting! They just found the first habitable world, and started terraforming, and—”
“And it will be there tomorrow, Ruth. We both have chores,” she reminded the young lady.
Because of her late arrival, the Company’s inspector concentrated on the outdoor activities on the first day of her visit. The neighbors might call Kos crazy, but he knew his business, and either complied with the regulations or could quote the exemption to the fourth decimal within the subfile. Basil, passing by the equipment shed, heard him explaining, “That is true. However, we are on the next shipment roster, barring greater priorities developing, and until then, unless we risk compromising the dairy cows’ nutritional completion standards, we need to mow the alfal blend by hand. As you are aware, letting the cows graze first growth alfal-blend without letting it air-cure is a violation of nutritional minima . . .” Basil shook her head. I’d fall asleep if I tried to lear
n all those regulations.
That night, Kos stayed out late working on one of the milk separator/churn units, replacing the burned out electronics module with one he’d bought. David gave the progress report. “Well,” he rocked his hand side to side. “Ms. Carver’s not happy but she’s not unhappy. Our using the big grass cutters makes her nervous about injuries, and she’d prefer that we didn’t use animal traction because of he possibilities of injuries to us and the horses. And the manure is unsanitary,” he grinned and winked. Tildie and Karina smiled back and rolled their eyes, and Basil wondered if Ms. Carver had ever seen a bad diaper. Horse apples, shahma pellets, and cow pats seemed scentless compared to what human babies could produce.
“However, ladies, there’s another company specialist coming tomorrow to finish with the operations and hospitality inspection. Ms. Carver is going to do a home quality visit, since we,” he straightened up and took on an officious air “employ an improved settler on indenture in an atypical domestic residence pattern.”
Now it was Basil’s turn to roll her eyes. She’d read about the cultures of the Planetary Union, and a joint household with three wives came nowhere close to what she’d consider atypical, even among humans. And some of the others . . . well, deep down she wondered just how much of what the anthropologists and xenologists recorded had been made up by the locals as a joke. “Maybe she can change one of James’s diapers to get a comparative manure specimen,” Basil offered.
Karina rested her elbows on the table and sipped a little choco-coffee. “I suspect it has to do with your educational credits, Basil. There’s a push on for women in the tech departments, and someone’s probably flagged your file because you are not working in a tech field.”
Tildie looked up from her plate, frowning. “I don’t like the seasonings on the meat. It should be less gamey with a smoother finish. We’ll use a touch more preiselberry in the marinade, then balance it when the sauce cooks down. And I suspect you’re right, Karina. Remember the fuss when Gomer changed from industrial chemistry to agricultural management?”
David tipped his head to the side. “Mom Tildie, was that the evening everyone was yelling and us kids spent the night in the hay loft?”
Tildie’s eyes bulged. “You shouldn’t have heard any of that, young man! But yes, I suspect it was.” She settled down and ate another bit of meat. “Kos’s mother exploded when Gomer said she couldn’t manage the farm, raise a family, and work in industry, and that Mrs. Peilov would have to pick two. His father, may the Holy One give him rest, couldn’t understand what the problem was. ‘She’s of age’ he said. ‘It’s her choice.’ Karina and I just ducked, didn’t we?”
“You ducked, I backed Gomer, and Mrs. Peilov almost hit me with the little cutting board, the one with the Hebrew motto painted on it that hangs in Gomer’s kitchen.” Karina shook her head. “And yet people claim that we women are the calm, mild ones.”
In this family at least, we just hide it better, Basil thought, fascinated by this bit of family history. She and Karina and Tildie had spats, but they kept them away from the men and children. And the other women knew that Basil could fight dirty, and had, and would again if she thought she had to. By mutual agreement they kept things verbal and tried to talk through problems before they became acute.
“Will Ms. Carter be staying for any meals tomorrow?” Tildie wondered aloud.
David shrugged and helped himself to more bread. They’d gotten parts for the house mill, the little one beside the kitchen, and had flour again. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Krehbiel asked that if you see someone moving large, round stones, just ignore them.”
“Another Heritage project?” Bethany asked, speaking up for the first time since supper had started.
David rocked back and forth in his seat, his mouth full. “I’ll take that as a sort of ‘yes’,” his sister said.
“Just ignore them, please.”
Rocks? Oh, I wonder if someone is going to make a gravel road or needs foundation stones and doesn’t want to wait for the company to bring a synth-stone fabricator. That, or one of those rock-worshipping religious groups is settling near-by. Basil shrugged to herself. She’d grown up “not seeing” things. Her safety had depended on it.
When David finished another mouthful, he added, “Oh, yes. We learned today that it will be the next equipment shipment rotation before we get the parts for the second separator, the remote harvester, and the robo-mower. And no one seems to have any idea when the ag nav satellites will be replaced, so once we get the big things fixed, we’ll have to program everything by hand or go manual control. Oh, yeah, count on the power grid staying unreliable for the next few months, too.”
“Food production is priority one,” Tildie said, frowning. “Why did we get bumped again? Was the manifest in error?”
David poured himself more choco-coffee. “No, ma’am. There are major food supply problems in the areas with large improved settler populations, so those get priority.”
“I thought the urban fabricator units had already been repaired or replaced. They’re priority one plus, with at least a double set of spares required by United Planets law,” Basil thought aloud.
David wagged his hand again. “Officially, they have been replaced, and this is just adding emergency back-up should the unthinkable happen again. Unofficially, according to some of the men at the equipment depot in the new city, which still doesn’t have an approved name yet, there’ve been riots in ColLandPlat and other cities because not enough luxury and tier two goods are available, plus a lot of repairs and replacements got diverted to Delhi II after the big riots among the indentured herd over there.”
Karina coughed and cautioned, “David,” then pointed to Basil.
He ducked. “Oop. Sorry, Mom Basil, no offense. I didn’t think.”
“None taken, this time. There is a difference between individuals like me and the people who are, well, sold as a group indenture, or moved as an entire sub-sett block. Those colonists don’t always adapt well to a new environment.” Or at all. They just replicate their old settlement on a new world and their developmental managers wonder why nothing changes. She added, with a touch of bitterness, “That’s why calling them ‘improved settlers’ smacks of stardust and sneering. If people don’t want to change, they won’t, and to call old wine in a new wineskin ‘improved’ is silly.”
“Truth, Basil,” Karina agreed. “So we keep on as we have been, then. I wonder if there’s a way to run the second separator some other way. All it has to do is spin like a centrifuge of sorts, so could we devise a crank system?”
David looked at his brother. Carl had been ignoring the discussion in favor of eating a third helping of whiteroots, and David repeated, “Carl, can we rig a crank system on the broken separator?”
First Carl shook his head, then apparently changed his mind. He swirled his head a little as he chewed. “Maybe. We’d have to gear it, because no one can turn a handle that fast, unless you pre-loaded a flywheel, and . . .” The boys and Karina launched into a discussion that grew too arcane for Basil to follow. Instead she ate and thought about the veterinary study track and what it required.
The next day, Karina, Tilde, and Basil met with Ms. Carver. Basil almost ground her teeth as Antoinne Carver alternated between verbally patting the other two women on the head and scolding them—when she wasn’t busily marking things off in her files. She’d started the interview during James’s morning nap, so Basil left him with Bethany and Miriam, once Ms. Carver finished talking to Miriam. The auditor’s manner set Basil’s nerves on edge—it reminded her too much of some of the community assistance facilitators from her days in the slums.
“So, Karina, how is your relationship with your husband?”
“Fine.”
Ms. Carver waited for more details. When none came, she began fishing. “Does he treat you well? Does your living situation meet Company standard?”
“Yes, and yes.” Karina, in her blue coverall and brown kerchief, rem
inded Basil of one of the women in the ancient “heroic farmer” films from Old Earth. For her part, Tildie wore her white kitchen clothes, hinting that she needed to be back at the restaurant as expeditiously as possible. They had four rooms full at the guesthouse, and every visitor had requested the three-meal option.
After she finished talking to the other women, Ms. Carver turned to Basil. “Ms. Washington, how does your employer treat you?”
“My husband treats me very well.”
The inspector looked puzzled, scrolled through her files, and complained, “I see no husband listed, Ms. Washington.”
Oh for the love of mud. “Mr. Kossiusco Peilov and I married four years ago this past March. The marriage was registered with the Company and the Congregation Beth Israel.”
More scrolling and a light dawned in Carver’s soft green eyes. “Oh, during the data collection system change-over. You need to resubmit form thirty-four and data set nine to the company personnel offices in ColLandPlat.”
“Really?”
The woman’s head bobbed with a rapid, jerky movement. “Oh yes, otherwise you are in violation of regulation twelve dot nine subsection gamma, ‘Employee-Employer Relations.’ The penalty for improper relations between employee and employer is a five-hundred class alpha hour fine.”
Basil dug the earnings classes out of her memory and wanted to vomit. That would add fifteen years to her indenture. She cleared her throat, hands clenched out of sight of the inspector, working to stay calm as Karina and Tildie stared at the company woman. “How long do we have to turn in the proper forms and dataset access codes?”
“A week. However, if you shift your indenture to industrial from hospitality service, the company will extend the deadline to a month. You see,” Carver began to lecture, “with you engineering background, you really are not doing all you could to reach your potential. Your employer may not be aware, or may not have had time to inform you, that the Company needs more women, especially improved settler women from urban subsistence households, in the sciences and technology enterprises. You could bring a much-need variety of experience and a unique perspective to the division.” Her smothering, earnest tone and eager expression did nothing to rekindle Basil’s interest in returning to engineering.
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