Daughters of a Coral Dawn

by Katherine V Forrest

  “The choice of where we will settle was made by you.” She speaks in her normal tone, her voice reaching us with bell-like clarity. “The choice indeed has been an easy one because of your knowledge, your talent, your ability. With the wisdom and expertise you have contributed, each of you has made the choice.”

  There is a pleased murmur. Her understanding of leadership has deepened yet further, she has even greater command of her gifts. I glance at Mother, who leans back in her big chair stroking the whoofie asleep in her lap; she watches Megan with a half-smile, looking very pleased indeed.

  “With Kendra’s permission we have temporarily linked our ship’s computers with the viewscreen so that we may see most of the factors that combined in our decision. First, we will see why certain sites were eliminated.”

  On the viewscreen images form and swiftly vanish: vistas of ice fields and grinding glaciers; harsh mountain ranges of barren, twisted rock; sharply etched giant earthquake faults; boiling calderas; thick towering forest.

  “All seven continents, no matter how formidable the terrain, are of course within our capability for settlement—with appropriate terraforming. But consultations with our cosmogonist Patrice, as well as many others of you, have resulted in certain convictions about the manner in which we must approach our new home planet.”

  If any of us is slightly puzzled as to how Megan has synthesized our various contributions, we hold our peace; we all exchange pleased glances and smiles.

  “We are not traditional colonists. Indeed, with our superior awareness we have the most profound philosophical obligations as we choose among seven biomes—seven ecological regions—with evolutionary processes very different from each other because of the barrier to common evolution presented by the oceans. And our obligation to the future compels us not to interfere in the ecological balance and evolutionary process of our world. On this basis, the decision has been taken that no terraforming shall occur on Maternas.”

  The murmur that passes through the room is one of approval.

  “The decision not to terraform narrows our search to climatic and topographic regions most naturally friendly to us. These conditions are most ideally found on the continent we have named Femina—and it was by no accident that we landed there.”

  Megan smiles as several familiar vistas of Femina appear on the viewscreen—high waving grass, ivory-colored coastline. “She is our third largest continent. On her land mass of six million square miles, there are many specifics to consider.”

  The viewscreen shows the extensive earthquake fault we had flown over, an irregular stitching in the earth, a spine along the eastern side of the continent.

  “Our planet is young and geologically volatile—we’ll be subject to earthquake tremors wherever we settle. And further, a million square miles in the northeast of Femina is a vast plain where forest cover is rapidly breaking down and changes are occurring. Augusta is responsible for these remarkable magnifications of detail you see now.”

  We stare, murmuring, at armored creatures lacking horns, and huge elephant-like creatures without tusks. They graze peacefully on grass and shrub. Another squat long-necked spotted mammal delicately strips berries from a bush. We watch a small sabre-toothed cat leap from a tree and streak across the plain; we start in surprise as an ivory-spotted animal with a thick flat tail materializes from the grass to leap onto the back of an armored creature which promptly, if ponderously, rolls in the heavy grass to dislodge it.

  “Dominance is still being resolved here. We will not—must not—intrude where we would interfere with such highly specific life-forms. Which brings us to the southwest area of Femina.”

  High waving grass flutters on our screen; low flowering shrubs in yellows and golds; trees sculpted into torturous shapes by the wind. Then we look at jagged mountains descending to the sea.

  “Erika informs me that while all the mountains on our planet are young, these show much evidence of exfoliation and other indications of moderate rainfall, and the soil continues to break down to fertile elements.”

  The screen shows fruit-bearing trees, shrubbery adorned not with flowers but berries, pods, seeds.

  “Venus and Miri inform me that all of what they test so far is edible, some quite edible indeed. Vesta has experimented with one of the pod-like fruits with most interesting results.” She pauses, grins at Vesta.

  “It makes the most wonderful wine!” Vesta cries enthusiastically.

  When our laughter and applause finally die down, Megan continues, “Much remains to be tested, but all empirical evidence is highly promising. There is ample food, varied and interesting and safe for our consumption. Again, consider this mountain range that reaches to the sea.”

  We watch in silence. Hundreds of miles of rugged mountains perhaps six to ten thousand feet in height descend to humble peaks of less than a thousand feet, enclosing a system of lakes and streams and inland valleys.

  “The fresh water lakes are part of an integrated drainage system which Jolan tells me provides artesian conditions for an ample water supply. This lovely land,” Megan continues softly, “is very near the sea . . .”

  She remains silent. We watch other vistas slowly unfold: polished obsidian faces of mountainsides, dramatic waterfalls, sparkling coral lakes, gentle sloping foothills, wide valleys of trees and flowers and high waving grass.

  Megan speaks again. “We have the problem that Astra first warned us of, and then Erika. Wind. And wind is a most serious problem. From an analysis of probable wind patterns along the coast and out of these mountains, I have produced my own contribution.”

  We stir in anticipation as she pauses.

  “In this area of Femina, the mountain range presents a formidable barrier to the many large life forms in other sectors, and will protect us from them and them from us. But while we must be concerned with our effects on the varied life on our land, we need have no such concern about the sea. Jolan advises that all our oceans and lakes teem with life, and that evolutionary paths are well established in all the waters of our planet. Sea life is so bountiful that to impact negatively upon it is an impossibility. It is a certainty that a vast variety of foodstuffs from the sea and protein plants from the land will be available to us without drawing on any animal life—”

  “Meat-eating is barbaric,” Vesta says with a shudder.

  “Not if it’s necessary,” growls Erika.

  “Argue later, dears,” Mother says.

  Grinning, Megan continues, “As for where and how we might live, when I determined that our precious synthesizers must be placed well inside a hollowed-out mountainside to protect them from climate and from earthquake tremor, an idea glimmered then. And when we first experienced the violence of the nocturnal winds, I realized then that this is how we also should live.”

  I exclaim, dismayed, “You mean in caves?”

  Megan says gently, “Not in any sense that you imagine, Minerva. Foothills must be at least a setting for our homes, our main colony. Living amid the hills will minimize the effect of earthquakes by absorbing seismic tremors. And will also protect the basic ecology of Femina. Our synthesizers must mine for minerals and elements we need, but as we carve ore from these mountains and hills, we can at the same time carve our homes. Erika, will you assist?”

  “Gladly, Megan.” Erika strides to the viewscreen, picks up a laser pointer and faces us, her face animated, her eyes intense. “Megan has discussed her plan with many of us, sought our collaboration.”

  She circles an intricate grouping of foothills partially enclosing a gently rolling plain. “Consider this as a central building site. The curve of mountain would somewhat deflect the nocturnal wind, and carved rock homes would further—and completely—protect us from both wind and rainfall, which will be more than ample in this temperate zone of Maternas. Megan has already made preliminary renderings of the beautiful structures that could be our homes, homes that will combine architecture with art and individuality, will give us flexibility of lo
cation. Megan’s ideas are in all ways brilliant. And most of all—” Erika’s voice drops dramatically, “her plan will allow us to be ecologically one with our world.”

  “Erika is totally correct,” Patrice interjects.

  “These nearby streams descend to run over flat land, minimizing land erosion from down-cutting. And on this grassy and fruitful plain we may accomplish any cultivation necessary. As important as anything else to us, this land is beautiful. And all of us will have considerable choice. All of this area of Femina—a hundred thousand square miles in total, a thousand square miles of fresh water, five hundred miles of coastline without factoring in the inlets and other permutations of our coast. Those who choose to live away from our main colony will have many nearby hillside sites to choose from, near lakes or streams, beside the sea.”

  “I ask this question not for myself but for others,” Astra says. “What if some wish not to live in this area of Femina at all? On a continent other than Femina?”

  Megan replies. “Astra,” she says quietly, “I fully expect that some of us will not live here. A colony of four thousand—which will rapidly grow—will have sizeable impact on whatever area we choose to settle in. But the small number of us who choose to live elsewhere can do no conceivable ecological harm. Anyone who chooses not to remain with us will be given every assistance we can provide. We came here to live freely. And all of us shall be free.”

  Megan, smiling, holds up a hand to interrupt the applause which greets these words. “One other matter remains. To Mother has fallen the decision for the name of our colony.”

  “Simple, quite simple,” Mother says, gently stroking her sleeping whoofie. “Our colony will be called Cybele. Explain, Minerva.”

  I reply: “In antiquity, Cybele was the symbol of universal motherhood. She was a Greek-Roman deity known as Great Mother of the Gods, and special emphasis was placed upon her maternity over wild nature. She was also known as Mountain Mother, and her sanctuaries were on mountains and in caves.”

  “Excellent,” Mother says. “Simply excellent.”

  “Lions were her companions,” I continue.

  Mother pats the head of the furry creature in her lap. “I suppose whoofies will do as well.”

  “And,” I push on, “her special affinity with wild nature drew rabid followers, their worship manifested in highly orgiastic behavior.”

  Mother looks around at us with glittering eyes. “That seems also fitting. Enough of this palaver,” she says tartly. “Let’s get down to Cybele and go to work.”

  I myself lead the cheers.

  XVII

  1.8.28

  It has been many months . . . Record-keeping, visual and aural recording of our history, have kept me far too occupied to analyze and place events into perspective.

  We continue to create our homes. Create—rather than build or construct—because never have such extraordinary structures come into existence, never such a flowering of architectural artistry.

  The majority of our homes are in Cybele, but many of us have settled nearby. At our insistence one of the first houses to be crafted was Megan’s—because she is our leader, and to give her rest, privacy, and solitude from her labors. We carved her own design into the hillside site she chose very near Cybele, on an isolated spit of land jutting into the sea which she has chosen to call Damon Point.

  Her house is soaring planes and angles of weathered gray and brown striations that meld with the rocky mountainside, blend with the rugged coastline. The interior is an artful series of interconnected curves; fleece covers the floors, the tapestried walls conceal the myriad data and monitoring equipment she has installed throughout.

  Our houses have been created and furnished by all of our artisans. Enhancing colors have been added to obsidian and igneous rock, and our incredible homes, glazed and polished, glow in the blaze of our two suns and under the light of our brilliant night sky.

  A singularly noteworthy contribution has been made by Zandra, the sculptress. Using Astra’s comprehensive studies of the winds coming off the water and down the mountain passes, she has carved into each house an individual series of artful hollows. When the winds blow, these carvings play like flutes; glorious soaring harmonies warn us of oncoming nocturnals. They add unique beauty and charm to our houses; I have made many recordings when the wind has come up and our homes begin to sing . . .

  Our homes are no two alike. Mother’s is high on Cybele’s main hill, and overlooks Radclyffe Falls and Vivien Lake, sparkling in the distance. My history chamber is in a complex of structures bordering Cybele’s main square; but my house, a small simple square of peaceful grays and gray-blues, is beside the Woolf River.

  Venus has chosen to live in Cybele. “Privacy is of course lovely, Minerva dear,” she has told me. “But I prefer. . . the passing scene.”

  She is still with Miri—an unusual length of time for my sister to remain with anyone, and I doubt it will continue much longer. Old habits, especially the amorous habits of a lifetime, are hard to break. I suspect that Venus is attempting to justify to herself the miscalculation that cost her her tenuous hold on Megan, whom she continues to gaze at with ill-concealed desire.

  Demeter also resides in Cybele, her skill in the medical arts on call every hour of the day and night. And she watches over and cares for Mother. Diana, quiet, gentle Diana, lives happily within the tiny artists colony which has formed along Stein Lake. More of Diana, later . . .

  Vesta and Carina have settled near Diana on the Toklas River, their modest home one of the first we created; Vesta requires privacy in her work as a psychologist. Many of us, suffering from homesickness and other adjustment problems, needed to consult with her when we first landed on Maternas, and so we created a place affording peace and solitude. More of this later, also . . .

  The previous denizens of Cybele, a reptilian population and a vast number of marsupials—a most comical cross between kangaroo and primate—have been carefully encouraged by various non-lethal means to relocate outside our borders. Whoofies, which inhabit the foothills in goodly numbers, of course have the run of Cybele. Venus’s studies have determined that the overall reptilian population of Femina is insectivore—only four species are poisonous. And we have learned to contend with the mildly toxic stings and bites of our myriad insect life. Therefore, in spite of Megan’s warnings, most of us including myself had chosen to wear no protective devices, trusting to our security teams and our wrist beacons and the forcefield barriers that protect our settlement.

  Until early this morning. Vesta was collecting from the banks of the Toklas River a fungus which we have discovered to be a rich meat-like delicacy, while Carina was keying in her sector assignment and food quotas for this day. Then Carina heard Vesta’s faint scream. And at the same time received, along with the rest of us, the distress signal on her wrist beacon. She rushed from the house in a state of alarm that can only be imagined.

  She found Vesta backed against a tree by three small but armored and razor-toothed Crocodylia camouflaged in ivory and blue striping. They had crawled up from the depths of the river to ravage the fungi, and now meant to make a snack of little Vesta. Carina tore a limb from the tree and beat the creatures across their snouts; they retreated sufficiently so that Carina picked up Vesta and carried her to safety. Then over Vesta’s shrieks of protest, she returned to further inflict a furious pummeling upon the creatures which had dared threaten her precious Vesta. And so it was that Danya and her security team, summoned by Vesta’s wrist beacon, found Carina pursuing creatures which scuttled about in panic, dodging her blows and seeking only to return to the peace of their river bottom.

  After this incident with Vesta, and until the mysteries of our new world are fully unravelled, we have been ordered by Megan to wear the device designed by her—no larger than my little finger and emitting a non-fatal current of adjustable strength which will repulse small creatures and seriously discourage larger ones.

  Several mild earthquakes have
rumbled through Cybele, causing dismay but producing no damage. A more severe one flung us about and frightened the children, and generated a seismic wave which roared inland, crashing over Megan’s house—harmlessly—and reaching almost to Stein Lake. The children were counseled so successfully by Vesta that I believe they now almost enjoy our occasional tremors. Erika proceeds with the work on seismic prediction, and assures us it will soon be completed.

  We continue to discover the vagaries of our weather. Clouds come in over the mountains so swiftly that Astra’s rainfall predictions are of limited benefit. Waterspouts whirl in off the ocean, rising over the hills to deluge us; they delight the children as much as they exasperate us. Rains are brief if frequent and drenching, and are moderate, warm, never unpleasant. All our clothing has been made impervious, and since few of our Unity care to wear hats, hairstyles have shortened. We no longer take shelter from the rains; we simply go on about our work, afterward drying our hair with a few strokes of a warm comb. We have assimilated the rain into our lives.

  Our year has been calculated at precisely 336 days, a fact which is convenient as well as mathematically pleasing. We can divide everything perfectly, our days into twenty-eight day months and seven-day weeks.

  We have now passed nine of these twenty-eight day months. “We’ve had summer, fall, and winter,” Erika claims.

  There seems little difference in the seasons to me. More frequent rains in the winter, perhaps; and spring seems to be bringing an increase of wind. Venus is oddly concerned about the oncoming season, muttering about pollens from burgeoning growth and the increased force of our winds. We shall soon see. Spring is fast coming upon us . . .

  Our attire has become utilitarian, yet more artistic. In the warm humidity of our climate our children and youngest women wear bright belted tunics and light sandals. The lithe beauty of their young bodies is better shown in our visual recordings than in any poor recounting of mine. The strong and athletic among us seem to prefer shirts and pants and boots; but one piece trouser-suits, brightly patterned, some belted, some flowing, are again popular now that sufficient time has passed since the days when we had no choice in our apparel. Others of us dress in long pullover tops with body stockings, or rough-cut tunics and leggings. Many of us older ones, including all of the Inner Circle, wear soft light robes.