by Carol Buhler
“Man on a roof. He’s no longer alive.”
I focused on Pete. “What do you know about that?”
“Nothing. Honest!” His voice wobbled. “There wasn’t supposed to be guns.”
Aarnyon returned and reported Sam on his way home. We three mounted, Xagdon dragged a protesting Pete onboard, and we flew to the roof to investigate the dead shooter. Pete blanched when he saw the body—he didn’t have to see the face, I assumed. A good thing. The face had been pummeled out of all recognition.
“Who is it?”
Tears filled the man’s eyes. “My son, Frank. He was elected leader of Franktown. Just yesterday.” He twisted and squirmed in Xagdon’s grip. “What did you do to him?”
“He should have kept his people under control!” Xagdon returned. “He got what he deserved.”
I added, “He tried to kill Sam. Got Adam instead.”
Pete’s eyes widened and I felt his despair. “He wasn’t supposed to shoot anyone!”
“Too late to tell me that now. He did, and he died for it.” I turned my back on the sobbing man. “We need to secure the port for everyone’s use.”
“And straighten out Petersborough.” Xagdon glared at me, daring me with his attitude to take on the sprawling mess Pete had allowed to develop.
“After we settle the port.”
We called for reinforcements but started sorting the remnants of the battle into two camps immediately: the interlopers and those who had already made their homes in the immediate area. Any of Cobdon’s or Quodon’s people we sent home and we found no one from the frozen-fish-ships involved in the fight. They’d stayed strictly off shore during the confrontation.
Two captains joined us when they saw us sorting out the tangle; they and Cobdon worked out an arrangement that would allow them to wait for the supply ship from Earth, but not block Cobdon’s fishing fleet from the dock.
By nightfall, when my family arrived to help, we had a rag-tag group of around a hundred that had come specifically from Petersborough with Frank to take control of the docks. We tied hands behind backs, lifted them onto reeth backs to sit in front of the mind-mates, and headed for Petersborough. I insisted on bringing Pete with me, basically to assure he arrived alive.
11. Petersborough
It was still the middle of the night when we settled on a bluff outside the city, which was still brightly illuminated, blotting out any sign of the stars above. We corralled our prisoners in a living fence of reeth bodies, explained, with Sam’s loudspeaker, that reeth never forgot a face, then turned the people loose to make their way to their homes.
To Pete, I ordered, “Call whoever you consider your aides or assistants for a meeting at eleven. We…” I motioned around me to include the hundred or more don who’d responded to our call for help—the Joe, the Sar, the Cob, the Quo, and, of course, the Xag families. “…will all be there so send someone to inform us of a location large enough for us to gather. And don’t try an ambush. We will be watching.”
I turned him around and shoved him after the others. He stumbled a couple of steps, then ran to catch up.
Setting a watch schedule, we bedded down to get what rest we could. I was exhausted. We’d flown the entire night before, fought a battle, and then struggled with the recalcitrant humans to separate them and install order. I needed a clear mind for tomorrow’s confrontation.
Aarnyon and his mate lay on their sides and formed a barrier with their legs; Korola and I huddled within, snuggling in the blankets she’d brought. Kora and Kardon were safely ensconced nearby with their reeth-mates—our younger two at home with Korola’s mother. I slept almost as soundly as I would have in my own bed.
When I woke, the sun wasn’t up although the sky was lighter than dead night. I felt slightly disoriented. Korola softly reminded me how far east we were from our own home. Glancing around, I saw only the latest guard shift stirring so I snuggled back with Korola, putting off for another hour the need to face the day.
Aarnyon brushed my head gently with a fore-hoof as he levered himself upright. Next, I heard Sardon’s voice complaining about the lack of breakfast. Soon, we were all upright, stretching shoulder, back, and leg muscles to relieve the discomfort of sleeping on the ground—something I’d not done for years. Someone handed out the grain-and-fruit cakes femm prepared for camping trips, another something I’d not had for years.
The family heads gathered to stare down at the motley city below as we munched our meal cakes. “What are you thinking of doing?” Xagdon asked, sounding somewhat belligerent.
“I don’t know what it takes to dismantle those extruded buildings.” They were haphazardly spaced and extremely ugly; many were several stories high, most with paint peeling, windows broken, and roofs in tatters. The place did not resemble the neatness of Samsville, as if it had been built of different materials, certainly occupied by humans with no pride. I sighed.
“I’d like to see it completely demolished,” Xagdon said, “and the residents forced to return to Earth, or moved to where they have to do what they said they wanted to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“You told us they wanted to farm—to build their own homes and work the land,” Xagdon growled. His sons had joined us, forming a semi-circle to his back. “These people do not do much of anything. We’ve watched them. Most don’t farm—they buy what they need with something they call money. Where they get it, I don’t know.”
He looked to Quodon and Cobdon for confirmation. “They are nothing like those on your land, are they? My boys and I have checked them, too. Your folk work hard, tend their homes, their families, their land.” Both don family heads murmured agreement. “Even your humans, Sardon, are hard workers, dedicated to self-improvement.”
“They aren’t my humans,” Sardon returned Xagdon’s growl.
Xagdon waved away his statement. “You know what I mean.” He glared at the mess below us. “These humans need a kick in the butt—or they need to leave!”
“Does anyone know how far north humans have settled?” I asked. “Quodon says they’re all along the coast and I’ve personally seen their villages to the south. What about up by the Pam? The Bel? Even the Wof?”
“I don’t think they want to go that far north,” Sardon said. “It snows up in those regions.” His voice went sarcastic. “Pete and his folk like warm weather.”
“Too bad!” I grinned. “I say we break them up into small groups and send them north. They can learn to work for their needs.”
“I’ll back that plan, if Wofdon doesn’t object. He’s tough enough to keep them in line, I’d think.” Xagdon’s words surprised me. I’d have thought he’d want them gone completely.
Via Aarnyon and reeth telepathy, we contacted the family leaders of the north. They had no humans at present on their land and said they would be willing to take small numbers of the Petersborough population as long as they were able to help work the farms, a process that was much more difficult up there than it was for us. Wofdon said he would especially like to have a couple of the tractors sent with their new settlers.
So, we formulated the plan and as we prepared to fly into Petersborough for the meeting, Sam arrived in an air-car. His face was drawn—he said Samsville was in mourning for Adam and would hold his funeral the next day, but he wanted to know what our plan was for Pete.
“Yes,” he said to my query. “The resin we use to mix with sand and dirt for the extruders, when diluted to the consistency of water and augmented by another chemical we have on hand, will dissolve the buildings. You can turn Petersborough into a pile of rubble in a day, if you choose to.”
His assurance cemented our will. We landed at the north end of town where a large, extruded, square and flat area allowed room for all of us, our reeth-mates, and around three hundred humans—all male. They were sullen and angry, shaking fists at us and shouting imprecations I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. They’d learn this day what they were up against. We’d hidden our st
rength—on my advice and thinking of being friendly. No longer.
Pete, looking better than he had the day before, strode boldly toward me. The mountain, with his head bandaged, was matched by three more at Pete’s sides. Before I could say a thing, Pete shouted, “You killed my son. You destroyed Franktown. What do you want here?” Rumbling came from the throats of the crowd. I didn’t know if they were armed with guns or not. They thought they outnumbered us—I felt the confidence radiating from Pete’s attitude.
“Your son killed one of our own,” Sam barked.
“You have no proof of that,” a tall man at Pete’s side shouted. “If what you say were true, you should present Frank before a court, have him tried, and adjudged guilty before executing him. But you didn’t wait! I charge you, Joedon, with murder.” The tall man waved at the mountain and his siblings. “Seize him!”
They tried. I caught the original giant’s head in both hands and spun left. His neck broke with a loud crack. Aarnyon kicked his fore-foot into the second’s face—smashing the man’s nose to the back of his head. He died before he hit the ground. I didn’t see exactly what Sardon did to the third—the body was a heap to one side. The fourth reached for me and actually caught me around the chest. I butted my head into his chin, and clenched both hands on the tops of his shoulders. He sank with a scream of agony—he lived, however.
Pete and the tall man had started to run. They were uninjured, just cornered between Xagdon and his oldest son. The crowd dropped the weapons that had appeared—mostly clubs and knives—as the rest of the reeth and don charged them, unafraid and unstoppable. Resistance ended quickly and I was extremely relieved that no guns had appeared.
“Now that the foolishness is out of the way, this is what we’ve decided as punishment for your offenses against our planet, ourselves, and your own fellow colonists.” I faced Pete head on, ignoring the blustering tall man. With no idea who he was, I did not intend to give him power by recognizing him as important. “Petersborough will be leveled,” I said loudly. “When you first met me, you said you wanted to farm. You and yours haven’t, I hear. Therefore, you will do so now.”
I turned away from him, took Sam’s loudspeaker, and addressed the men around us. “We are dividing the population of Petersborough into groups of no more than fifty individuals and sending you north to settle, farm, and support yourselves. We will never again allow you to congregate together. You may meet among yourselves to decide who you want to live with, then present your group to Sardon and myself here tomorrow for approval and assignment. More attacks of any kind will be dealt with harshly.”
“What if someone has been farming?” The shout came out of the crowd. I couldn’t determine from whom and decided it wasn’t important to know.
“If you can show my friend Quodon your farm, your home—not an ‘apartment’ inside the city--and your family, and prove that you have been producing, then you may safely stay. You may not live within the bounds of Petersborough, however!”
A groan rumbled through the massed humans, some holding broken arms, some leaning on a neighbor’s shoulder. Women and children had appeared, joining their mates and fathers, I assumed. Someone was administering first-aid. Good. I didn’t plan to.
“Now, go back to your homes, pack what belongings you want to take, and prepare to start moving by tomorrow evening. The lives you’ve built in Petersborough are over.”
“But I never supported Pete Mason!” a woman cried.
Another woman’s voice answered, “Too bad. You never wanted to stop him, neither.” As I watched, families moved into the crowded city walkways—there were no streets wide enough for cars, I noticed—the men badgered into motion by the women and children.
Korola stepped up next to me and I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s a good judgment,” she said. “They wanted to escape their Earth lives, then recreated the same lifestyle here—probably because it was the only thing they really knew.”
For the first time, I began to understand how Petersborough had come about. Korola had recognized what I hadn’t. These particular humans thought they wanted to live freely but when it came to doing it, they succumbed to the lure of letting someone else make their decisions for them, just as they had on Earth, according to Sam’s stories.
Unfortunately, it was Pete Mason who had stepped up to make choices here and I had thought from the first he was not to be trusted. He’d probably reveled in the reliance the people put in him. No wonder Samsville was so different. Sam had enforced the idea that each family, even each individual, decide for itself—and had not allowed his followers to pressure him into governing their actions. His methods had attracted those humans with the stern constitutions to pursue what they wanted rather than fall back on what they’d always known.
By the end of the fourth day, every citizen of Petersborough was on his way somewhere. Each group was escorted by watchful mind-mates sent from the region they were headed for, and each was directed to meet with the family head when they arrived to secure the local family’s permission to settle. It was currently summer in the north—they’d have time to build a home before the winter hit.
I set myself a task to visit in the depth of winter to see how they fared. I didn’t like snow much myself. Korola thought such a trip would be a great experience for the family, especially the kids. So, come Mers, we would travel north.
Sam’s prediction was accurate. Within a day, Petersborough was nothing but rubble, and fortunately not the kind that would come from demolishing one of our timber, stone, and brick homes. With the tractors, those who remained as true farmers were able to pulverize the chunks and smooth the area into farmable ground, which they then split amongst themselves. Sam assured us the chemicals used to crumble the walls wouldn’t harm crops.
Sardon and I weren’t too happy with the appearance of the miles-long barren spot but those who remained assured us it would be covered by greenery before we knew it. Still, it would always look different from the prairie I loved.
12. Johnstown
The Petersborough shut-down had taken mental and physical energy and for three days after returning home, everyone in the household lazed around, resting and regaining our equilibrium. I remained more depressed than my brothers and uncles even though they had agreed on the actions I’d ordered. Personally, I felt responsible for having allowed Pete Mason to grow his ugly community and fretted over what may be happening in other parts of our previously beautiful land. The various family heads were supposed to keep me informed, but they hadn’t until the situation was beyond rescue.
On the fourth day, Johndon, my eldest uncle and the one closest in age and temperament to my father, arrived on my doorstep to demand a family meeting. “Joedon,” he said to me, “it’s time for you to separate your two jobs. Let the rest of us handle the Joe family estate and businesses. You become, in fact, the Supreme Don. It’s a role that your father didn’t have to play very often after years of our life with the reeth. Now, however, with the advent of the humans, you must become more global in your reach. Get out there and manage our world—that is your birthright.” He grinned at my frowning expression. “Thankfully, it’s not my responsibility.”
He was right, of course. I didn’t want to supervise the entire settled areas—but I could find no way to avoid it. The family met and dispersed different aspects of the family tasks to my brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles. Then, Korola and I prepared to travel—first south toward the new settlement Joldon was presently visiting. As my heir, I figured he’d better start learning what new duties a Supreme Don would have to assume, even as I did. I didn’t think the humans would be leaving our planet, ever.
It was only a three-hour, leisurely flight to my best friend’s household; Bardon’s estate was the closest to the new settlement. He and his fym met us on arrival and invited us to stay as long as we wanted. Much as I wished to, I had to decline, saying we’d only be there overnight. That evening was pleasant as we four reminisced o
ver the good times we’d had as youngsters. I feared quiet times were behind us and I’d never again enjoy a carefree evening with them.
The next morning, as we flew toward Johnstown, I noticed the evidence of human development: extruded houses dotted the terrain; fields spread across gently rolling hills; and in the distance, we spied the trees lining the wide river which twisted like a snake down the broad valley. Fortunately, nothing resembled the mess of Petersborough—just as Jol had reported.
Our reeth-mates flew low so that Korola and I could see the changes clearly, following Jol’s instructions to his location. We’d just topped the last rise before the valley floor when Taggert’s scream swept into my head from Aarnyon.
“Help, Dad! Hurry!” Jol’s voice—relayed by our reeth.
Aarnyon and Bennget swept toward the call and in moments we saw the source. Men were fighting—two against one. Jol danced around them, hollering for them to stop. To the side, Jackson and Paul lay in a huddle. We landed in a rush—the combatants paid us no heed.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Paul’s father—and two men from the next farm!” Jol was breathless. “Paul tried to stop them! Jackson got hit, too. Paul yelled for me to help but you said I shouldn’t interfere in human disputes! I didn’t know what to do.”
“You did right.” I strode toward them, Jol at my back. The fight was not at all even. Catching the arm of one of the assailants, I flung him to the side. The other turned on me and the one they’d been beating fell limply to the ground. I caught the fist as it swung toward my head and squeezed. The man cried out as bones crunched. He stopped his charge and yelled, “Who do you think you are? This is none of your business!”
The other was back on his feet and coming from my right. Jol took him down with a kick to the side of his head—he stayed down.
