Harvest Moons

by Melisse Aires

  Harvest Moons

  Melisse Aires

  Copyright: Melisse Aires 2013

  This short scifi romance contains adult scenes.

  BLURB

  With the death of her no-account husband, Polly is the sole owner of a farm steading on the planet Celstar. She is determined to hold the steading and make a life for herself and two Synth children in her care. Her nearest neighbor, widower Fallon Verdad, is the big landowner in the territory and also her local Councilman. Like most of the other settlers, Fallon is a Shimmer, a horse shifter, while Polly is human—well, mostly human. Their attraction to each other is electric and hard to deny. An affair would lead to scandal in this conservative community. Scandal is the last thing Polly needs.

  Sci-fi space western romance, futuristic, short story.

  ~**~

  Her husband was dead and she was glad for it. With this one last ugly chore Polly would be done with Hoggart Avila forever and someday the memories of their short, ugly marriage would fade. Owning the Steading would certainly help with forgetting the unpleasant way she got it. More stability than she’d sure ever had, and she meant to keep it. She was legal wife by law of the Terran Confederacy. Somehow, she was an upstanding, vote carrying citizen of Celstar Mid-Territory.

  It was more than she’d ever hoped to have in life.

  Polly paused in her labor, stopped and rubbed her aching back. Dragging the body far from the Steading was dangerous but necessary. Her laser was in her apron pocket, and high day was the rare time to see a volve or a pack of woolers. Woolers, with their deadly horns and short tempers, headed for the river banks during the heat of the day to nap and volves came out after sunset. No extra credits to spend for the precious fuel in the flitter to carry the body, since the solar array on it had busted. After harvest she’d get in fixed. Meanwhile, she couldn’t allow this rotting hulk to corrupt their water supply. He’d caused her enough misery. The Steading only had the one well and no credit to drill another.

  She gripped the coarse cloth of the bag she’d sewed him into and pulled him over the rocky ground, uphill, almost to the hole. Sweat trickled so her shirtwaist was wet with it. And immediately after this chore, she’d be in the fields until dark. Harvest. Of course Hoggart would die at the time of year he was needed most.

  Sweat removed toxins. By the end of the week she would be toxin free.

  The woven sack ripped as she pulled the heavy body over the rocky ridge at the top of the hill, exposing Hoggart’s waxy countenance, blood dried in his hair from the fatal wound. Polly had not done him the final courtesy of cleaning him up. She’d sewed him in the bag, and dug his hole on the far side of the hill so she wouldn’t have to see the grave marker everyday. Shortly she would be done with the wretched man forever.

  Hoofbeats thundered behind her and she twisted around to see one of the Shimmers in horse shape trotting down the far hill across the vale that separated her land from her nearest neighbor. Shimmers. That was how Hoggart got a cheap Class Three land Package on what was clearly Class Two land. The Mid-Territory on Celstar allowed Shimmer settlers and most Steadings has been purchased by Equine Shimmers. In town they looked like anyone else, collars and cuffs, city coats, proper dresses down to their boots. But across the fields she sometimes saw a wild horse running free on the open grasslands, mane flowing in the wind. It was a pretty enough sight, and the Shimmers kept to themselves in their clan Steadings, so she never reckoned them to be a problem.

  Until now. What if this one thought Hoggart’s death might not be accidental? Her heart, already pumping hard from the work of dragging the body, sped up so she felt the need to breath heavy.

  The horse coming toward her was beautiful, large with feathers on strong legs, a dark brown, nearly black, with a sheen in the sunlight.

  Upon reaching her it shimmered and before her was the finest looking man she’d ever seen, and she could see a lot of him because Shimmers shifted in the skin. Dark hair waved near to his shoulders, which were broad. Tall, well muscled. Long, sculpted legs and not a smidgen of flab on him.

  The Shimmer looked at her husband’s dead countenance.

  “He fell. On a rock.” No one need know she’d shoved him when he took a drunken swing at her. And that she’d had to stop him from raping the little six year old Synth, Ivy. Who would suspect a small woman such as herself for having the strength to down a hulk of a man like Hoggart?

  The nude man nodded. “I am sorry for your loss, ma’am. You must be Mrs. Avila? We haven’t met, though I met Mr. Avila several times. Fallon Verdad, head of Clan Verdad. Your near neighbors. I’m also the territory councilman.” He held out a hand and she shook it aware of how warm and large his palm, and how naked he was. She did not allow her eyes to stray south, though she did want to.

  “I am Polly Avila.”

  He walked passed her and looked at the hole she had scraped in the hard, rocky earth. “Your grave is too shallow, it will attract volves. I can deepen the grave and we have several casket shells. I would be pleased to give one to you for the burial, ma’am.”

  “That would be right generous. I have no credits for such, nor time for the trip to town.”

  “Understood. I will send over my young nephews to assist you with the harvest. Your Synths are immature, correct?”

  “Yes. I do not have them doing the hard labor. They are also keyed to Hoggart. They will need rekeyed.” Polly felt like she was watching an absurd vid. She was talking legal matters with a naked councilman over the body of her dead husband. A wave of dizziness swept through her and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, reminding herself to breathe.

  “I will come over as soon as possible and rekey them to your command. I assume you have control through Mr. Avila?”

  “ Yes I do, so there is no rush. Thank you, Councilman. I do appreciate your taking the time to help.” She pulled a small ceramic marker from her apron. They used them to mark crops. She had erased the crop data and scribed her husband’s names and dates. “Sleep in the Stars, Beloved Husband.” A lie of course, but it suited her that others might think her marriage was an ordinary one, with warm feelings between them. “I made a marker for the grave.”

  “Leave that here and I will take care of the rest. You and yours can plant an eternity bush here one day in remembrance.”

  “Yes. We will do that one day.”

  She grabbed her shovel and waited, knowing it would look odd if she ran off happily back to her Steading.

  “I will leave you to say your goodbyes in peace, and will return within the hour to bury your husband. Unless you have a custom which requires your presence?”

  “No. No custom.” Where she came from people of her class were thrown in the recycle bin. “But I would like to say goodbye.” She was no actress but hoped her downturned face and quiet manner disguised her complete lack grief.

  Fallon Verdad shimmered back to full horse and took his leave in a cadence of fast pounding hooves. Polly watched for a moment. It was kind of him to assist her. All to the good to maintain some form of neighborly relations with the Shimmers, since they held the largest population count in the Celstar Mid-Territory. And she planned to be here the rest of her life.

  A stunning handsome man, but man to be neighborly with and not one thing more, no matter the temptation in his big blue eyes or fine strong body. She was not immune to attractive men, it was probably part of her coding to welcome men in her bed, and she refused to feel guilt of it. But this was Celstar, not a crowded world city with all manner of vice. Looking held no dangers. Acting could ruin everything.

  One percent Synth made her full Synth under Terran Confederacy law. Celstar didn’t have a DNA test for immigrants, though no doubt they would implement one once they had more populat
ion to do such work. She was near twenty percent Synth. It showed, of course, but in her legs. Shiny, gilt Synth-skin legs. Legs for dancing the Cancan in Saloons and Theaters. Celstar had a decency clause in their constitution. No Burlesque Houses here, or brothels. Ladies’ legs were never seen; they wore long skirts, pantaloons and stockings. And Polly had managed marital relations wearing stocking and garters and a darkened room. Manipulating a drunk husband was simple, another man might be much harder.

  No more beddings for her. Not from her sorry excuse for a husband and definitely not with a local Shimmer. She’d be a proper widow lady.

  ~**~

  Fallon trotted back to the gravesite with a casket shell, and quickly took care of the business of burying Mr. Avila, using a digger instead of a shovel. No one would miss Hoggart, more often a drunken problem to be dealt with than a neighbor to work with.

  But Hoggart had married well. Odd, that. Of course, perhaps the woman Polly had considered the fine parcel of land and decided it gave the troublesome man enough shine to interest her.

  Pretty woman. Delicate but round in hip and chest. Big dark eyes with curling lashes, a dimple that showed even with a sad, partial smile. Very attractive. Something about her made him want to see more of her.

  His ants wanted him to remarry, saying he was too young to stay single, but the girls paraded in front of him were too young, just a few years older than his two sons. He still missed Maureen, gone now five years, and it was hard to imagine someone in her place. But he did miss a woman’s company, especially in his bed. A widow lady—Not Mrs. Avila, of course, she was human—but an older woman was so much more appealing than a girl. He would think on that.

  ~**~

  The next morning at sunrise two teen boys arrived in her yard. “Uncle Fallon said you would need help since Mr. Avila passed. He sent us. I’m Evon and this is Charl.” They were tall boys, thin but athletic looking. Both had dark hair and light eyes like their uncle.

  “Very good. I appreciate your neighborly ways. If you’d like to put your satchels here on the porch, I’ll show you where things are. Come have a bite to eat, we are still at the first meal. We have biscuits and jam.”

  They followed her into the kitchen where her Synths sat at table, their honey gold hair neatly braided, wearing flower print dresses and blue pinafores like little human girls wore. They were tiny with delicate builds and Polly had often wondered what possessed her husband to purchase such children, who seemed to have so little ability to be farm workers. Now she realized he probably intended them for prostitution.

  “Come have a biscuit. We will have a hot meal at noon, and there is ginger beer in the cool room. You may have as much as you want. Our water is good, too. Won’t get you sick.” They joined her at the table. “Ivy and Fern are the girl’s names. They are six but don’t talk.”

  “Yes ma'am.” The boys sat at the table and shared the biscuits and jam. After the meal she set the girls to the dishes and took the boys out to her grain fields.

  “You treat your Synths like children.” Evon, the taller boy spoke. “Dress them like little girls, feed them at the table.”

  She shrugged. “They look like children, act like children. It is not in me to treat them as stock animals. Is that different than your ways?”

  “Shimmers don’t have Synths, ma’am. We were once slaves ourselves.”

  “Well, not us, but our people.” Charl clarified.

  “I understand.” Synths and Shimmers were both made during the early days of the Confederacy, when a few planets decided to suspend laws concerning DNA experimentation with human cells. The Shimmer Wars of the last century had ended the DNA experimentation for the Terran Confederacy, but some out-worlds, like Jiang, where she and Hoggart had married, were beyond the Confederation’s reach and still had Synth labs. “I never sought to own any, but Hoggart got a bargain on them. And since we had no children they became part of our household.”

  Some part of her rebelled about making Hoggart seem like a man of principle, since they had fought fiercely over the little Synths. But it was better—safer—in the long run if her neighbors thought Hoggart a good natured, no account drunk, not the bully he’d truly been. Better people didn’t think anything odd about her and Hoggart.

  Polly showed them her harvesting machine and set them to work on her golden fields. After getting the stew in the pot for lunch, she and the girls joined them, holding bags to the chute and tying them manually when full, while the boys took turns hefting the bags onto the carrier. After lunch she sent the girls to play under a tree but she continued working in the fields. The girls would stay put, they had their music box and would make mirror dances for hours.

  The boys left before sundown and she set a table of salad greens, cheese and eggs. Simple. Then they all bathed and it was bed time for the girls. Polly sat with them in the loft as they settled to sleep. Perhaps they weren’t like human children, but Polly could see not much difference. They couldn’t speak, and their glowing eyes and shiny skin weren’t human, but they were affectionate and capable of learning. They played with small dolls and blocks, like other children. They liked a story and a song before bed. The girls couldn’t speak, but they could sing, matching her pitch with wordless oos and ahhs.

  Polly enjoyed this time of day. The loft in the crystiglass dome gave a panoramic view of her land, the garden, the golden fields, painted in warm tones as the sun set. She’d often slept up here, avoiding her drunken husband, and enjoyed the two moons of Celstar.

  Later she tidied up in the kitchen and put a pot of beans to soak for soup. There was a knock at her front door.

  Fallon stood on the front stoop, wide brimmed hat in hand, wearing a work shirt and dungarees. He carried a satchel, and Polly realized that what they put their human clothes in when they shimmered.

  “Councilman.”

  “Please call me Fallon. I came to rekey your Synths. I thought it best not to wait. If something happened and they needed doctoring, Dr. Ordes in town would refuse to treat them if you didn’t have ownership.”

  “Thank you. I hadn’t thought of that. They are in bed in the loft.”

  “Oh. Sorry to wake them.”

  Polly smiled. “They are heavy sleepers, so I don’t think you’ll wake them. You're using a scanner, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Fallon followed her to the narrow, steep staircase that lead to the small loft. The loft had a low roof so he couldn’t stand upright, and had to hunch over. He squatted down next to the beds. Both little Synths were asleep, holding rag dolls.

  “You treat them like children.”

  Polly shrugged. “They seem like children to me. Not that I am very familiar with children. Hoggart and I had none, so the girls have become my family.”

  “The law here encourages that. Family, or life long servants…can’t be sold on Celstar.”

  “Yes.”

  Fallon pulled out his scanner while Polly rolled the girls over so he could reach the back of their necks. He found the microchips in the base of their necks and erased Hoggart’s data, then pulled out a swab from the kit and handed it to her. She rubbed the inside of her cheek and handed him the swab, feeling a tiny thrill when their fingers brushed. He placed the swab in the scanner and it made a data chart of her DNA. When the lights flashed green, Fallon beamed the new data to the chips, sealing her ownership over the Synth girls. Satisfaction welled inside her. They were hers now, no matter what.

  “I’m a little surprised the territory has rekeying tool.” She said a they went down the stairs.

  “The Shimmer clans don’t own Synths, but a few non-Shimmer families in the area have Synths. They treat them like family or at least servants. The Celstar constitution bars selling, breeding or warehousing, but not ownership.”

  “That’s good. Hoggart bought them so I wouldn’t be lonely.” Though now she suspected he’d bought them for a sideline business in the sex trade. But Fallon didn’t need to know that. She walked him to t
he door.

  “The boys working out for you?”

  “Oh yes! They are wonderful workers. We got a third of the crop cut and loaded today!”

  “So your grain will be cut in three to four days. What else do you have to harvest?”

  “Nothing so time sensitive as the grain. I have a vegetable garden, which I can harvest over the next month or so and fruit vines that will ripen until hard frost. Grain was my only cash crop.”

  Polly walked him to the door, aware of his tall lean body, the way the muscles in his thighs showed under his dungarees, the breadth of his shoulders, nearly brushing hers. Should she invite him to tea? No, that was too forward. Widow. Grieving widow. Not a sex starved ex-Cancan dancer.

  “Would like to see my garden? I have a wonderful fruit enclosure.”

  “Love too.” He followed her around to the back of her house. The garden was a quarter section, and she’d planned and planted it all herself, Hoggart’s only concern being the grain crop that covered twenty of their twenty five sections.

  “I keep my fruit in this cage. Last year they didn’t produce very much but this year I have tons of fruit. Some have already ripened, so I have been picking a few at a time.

  “I’ve never seen this before. What are they called?”

  “Persicherries. They are a vine, not like the Terran cherry trees. Here, let me pick you some to take home.” They went inside the cage. The aisles between the vines were narrow and the two of them squeezed down the row until she found a grouping of ripe, red fruit. She pulled a small basket from the shelf that ran along the row and began filling it.

  “That basket is Skalzi.”

  “Yes. We border the corridor. Sometimes the Skalzi come to the garden. They are fascinated by the fruit. I set out a bowl of fruit, and they returned it with the basket. I usually leave a full basket outside the cage, it is gone by morning with an empty in its place, but not always. So now I have quite a collection.”