Midsummer Fest Ch. 02

That's one way you can tell when a man likes you. Hunting dinosauroids isn't for the faint of heart. The beasties have beaks and claws you wouldn't believe and the regs say it's illegal to use firearms hunting them. Most men use dogs and a spear and they put leather armor on the dogs. Dangerous business."

"And the clothing?"

"Wool and treesilk. It's a genetically modified tree like kapok. The fibers are hollow for warmth and unbelievably soft. They take dye like silk, too. We're a showy bunch in the winter around here."

As they entered the dining hall for breakfast, Grandmother Ingmar waved them over. "Lanhua, when you're done eating, Pastor and I need to talk to you. Something interesting has turned up. Now go eat."

After breakfast Lanhua, Ingmar and Pastor Haakon sat down in his study. Ingmar leaned forward and said, "Lanhua, Pastor tells me you got into the Core of The Library. That says to us that you are really good with the system. Rate yourself. How good are you, really?"

Lanhua blushed. "I don't want to brag, Grandmother, but I think you'd have a very hard time finding anyone better. As good? Maybe. Better? I'd have to see them work!"

Ingmar leaned back in her chair with a smile. "So you would have no trouble helping us learn the new operating system that came with you along with an additional fifty years of science?"

"Came with me? Fifty years of . . . ."

"Mm-hmm," Pastor was carefully keeping a straight face. "My guess is that Project Lifeboat has figured out how to send data and software through the Gate just as they can send objects. However, sending us a bunch of new information would be of little use since it appears that our operating system is horribly dated. So, when you hacked into the system it took the opportunity to send us not only a vast update and upgrade, it sent us a Librarian, as well. Welcome to Ný Heimasíða, Madam Librarian."

"Librarian—planetary Library? Me? But—oh, my. That explains what it said to me when I got to the Core. I really am important here, and not just for my genes. I guess that means I should start teaching people about the OS? But—but there are thirty thousand of you!"

"There are" Grandmother nodded, "and about a hundred of us are medical doctors. If there is anyone who needs all these updates more than them I can't imagine who it would be. How many minds can you keep track of at once?"

Lanhua leaned back in her chair, rocking gently from side to side. She remembered all the discussions, arguments and mental hanging out she had done before her friends were deported. How many?

"Well enough to teach the new OS? To people who are using one fifty years old? Probably not more than a dozen and to be safe, I'd say ten. I don't know how long it would take, though. Maybe a week? Two?"

"Fortunately you have no trouble using our old system so you can teach everyone remotely. Once the doctors are brought up to date, I would recommend that you start teaching a group of assistants to help you. We live a long time but I don't think one small genius can manage a whole planet. This is, of course, presuming that you are willing to do the job you were shanghaied into . . . ."

Lanhua looked rueful. "You need it. I can't leave whether I help or not. You all have been terribly kind to me and I don't have any other way of repaying you, really. I mean, my genes might be great for you but I'm already thirty-five and it's unlikely that I can have six or eight kids the way you do, anyway. So yeah, I'll do it. When should I start?"

Pastor walked over to the door and called down the hall to his wife, "Eir? Can you come here for a minute?"

*****

Weeks passed. A generally healthy bunch, the citizens of Ný Heimasíða rarely noticed the upgraded care they were now getting but when Lanhua unlocked genetic engineering that allowed Gunner and his men to begin breeding tilapia that tasted like trout, grass carp that tasted like white seabass and clams like shrimp and lobster the desire to learn the new OS reached a fever pitch. Discreet inquiries as to Lanhua's marital plans and possible willingness to be an egg donor began to pile up in Ingmar's mailbox. The situation was becoming impossible, she thought.

The next morning after breakfast, the First Founder and Elder slipped her arm through her son's and led him to a quieter corner.

"Gunner," she began, "it really is time to move on."

"I know, Mamma," he responded wearily, "it's just so hard. But you're right. Arne is getting to the age where he needs to start following me around and Ember is trying so hard to learn to mother him. I was going to ask her to marry me after church this Sunday."

"And Lanhua?"

"Lanhua? A shellfish farmer should ask the Planetary Librarian to marry him?"

"Yes! I watch her face, Gunner. I see the way she looks at you. Helga and Freya have both told me she thinks you smell good and even Rya seems to favor the idea if I can read her body language."

Gunner made a lopsided grin. "She does, doesn't she? Silly dog has even grabbed my sleeve and tried to pull me closer to Lanhua the last time she was sitting alone. Well, let me talk to Ember first . . . ."

*****

That evening Gunner walked into Ember's clan dining hall and looked around. The noisy scene of children and adults at tables talking and eating while already fed toddlers wondered among them and hugged large dogs that sat begging was familiar. Huge extended families eating together weren't any different from each other. After a few minutes looking around he spotted Ember but to his surprise she was sitting next to his son and across from Lanhua listening as the planet's sole Asian talked about her day.

Approaching, he heard her say, ". . . and Dr. Arikasdottir says that she'll be sending off my last bunch of donated egg cells forin vitro fertilization and implanting in the morning. This batch should finish it up."

"Wow," Ember was impressed, "a hundred eggs. One to every village and town, right? The Elders aren't taking any chances, I guess. Who knows when or even if this kind of opportunity for genetic diversity will happen again? So I guess this means you really have immigrated to Ný Heimasíða, no?"

The reply was wistful. "Being busy and getting to know the people here helps. And it makes me better understand your situation. The Tomissonians didn't ask to be colonists and I didn't ask to come here so we're sort of sisters under the skin. We make the best of our situation and you know? It really isn't a bad situation at all. This really is a gorgeous planet."

The women looked up to see Gunner standing over them. Ember fixed him with a look. "Well, Mr. Rolfsson, it's about time you showed up. Arne, move over and give your father room."

Gunner looked from one woman to the other. "Lanhua, I thought you were staying at our clan house."

"I was. But when Logi got married and moved into her own suite, Ember invited me to stay with here. The suite is set up for two women, after all, so now Keitha has her place to herself—and her men, of course."

"And now that we're settled in," Ember interjected, "I think it's high time . . ."

"We had a man of our own" Lanhua finished the sentence.

"It would be great to have our own place for lunch, Dad." Arne chimed in, "especially in a couple of years when the new flavors of clams are ready to harvest."

Gunner looked from Ember to Arne to Lanhua and back again. He shook his head. "I see I'm at least being allowed a vote. Okay, I accept. I'll tell Pastor to post the banns this month. Tonight?"

Both women leered back. "Tonight!"

*****

With a satisfied smile, Ebrahim Mozandarami left the System for the day. Seventy years before he had joined Project Lifeboat, in time becoming its Director. Spreading humanity to the stars had been an almost religious goal in those days, and the agency a holy order. Then came the debacle of Sylvan and the world's revulsion and anger. The Project would have died if the Mennonites hadn't volunteered to found Simplicity. Once they were on planet, Project Lifeboat had hung on, becoming more drab and bureaucratic by the year until that wondrous day Reginald called him on the Worldwide Mind.

Mozandarami.

Ebrahim, old fellow, it's Reginald. How are you this—uh, evening?

Reggie! Good of you to call. I was just spending some quality time in the jungle before hitting the sack. What can I do for you this almost-monsoon evening?

Actually, it's the reverse, I think. With the new restrictions on colony applications, I know you've had a bloody hard time finding people to send to the stars. The 'plant and abandon' policy has just about cut out anyone but the Mennonites and their ilk. Given their aversion to technology, we are hurting for pioneers if we ever expect to take over the Galaxy. But for once, I've got an application for you.

Ebrahim sat up straight.What? You wouldn't joke about that, I know. Who besides the Mennonites is self sufficient enough and willingly fecund enough to send?

Reginald chuckled over the link. It's a sect from—Iceland, I believe, called Tomissonians. They seem to be having some trouble getting along with the government and the feeling is mutual that somewhere else might be a better place for them to live. I've arranged for a meeting with their Speaker. She's to call you at dawn tomorrow.

Reggie, that's wonderful! I'll be looking forward to it. Thanks for telling me.

There was a mental snort from the other end.Whether it's wonderful or not remains to be seen. I haven't spoken with the woman personally, but the Minister of the Interior tells me she can be—difficult.

Really. Well, thanks for telling me that, too. I'll be on my best behavior.

*****

Rising before first light the next morning, Dr. Mozandarami dressed with care. Since he normally had only to please himself and was more than a bit of a dandy, he tended to wear the colors and patterns of his ancestors' carpets. But he had been warned that the woman he was to interview this morning was considered 'difficult'. To him that implied 'prickly', 'easily offended' and other adjectives guaranteed to make the rest of his day unpleasant. So this morning instead, he donned a sober charcoal suit and white shirt with only a touch of deep maroon around his neck in hopes of massaging the coming hour as gently as possible.

Just as the sun's top edge broke free of the horizon, his wall monitor chimed and came to life. It was with effort that Ebrahim kept a blank face for the image of the woman could easily have made his jaw drop and his eyes bulge. Startling blue eyes topped flawless cheekbones and long, shining blond hair cascaded down her shoulders and over ample breasts. The expression on the face, however, was cold, almost harsh. Obviously no cheerful flirting would be tolerated. Ebrahim swallowed.

"Good evening, Speaker. I do hope you have already dined and I will not be keeping you from your evening meal?"

The reply was sharp. "I have but it would not matter. There is no reason to dawdle over this, in any case."

Ebrahim cleared his throat. "Of course. Now I have received your application but have yet to read it thoroughly . . . ."

"That's notour application!"

"Pardon?"

"It was completed 'on our behalf' and with neither our knowledge nor our acquiescence by the Ministry of the Interior."

"Madam! Are you accusing the Ministry? Surely such an action is illegal."

"Not now. Before the thirteenth of last month such an action would indeed have been highly illegal, as well as morally dubious. However on that date the Ministry slipped a change through the Althing as part of a routine budget measure. I doubt that more than a quarter of the members even realized what they'd passed."

Ebrahim was struck nearly dumb. "But—but Speaker, Iceland has always been renowned for its toleration and liberal attitude toward—uh, those with differing—uh, attitudes and beliefs."

The woman sagged visibly. "Ostad Mozandarami, times change. Today my country has developed a very selective kind of liberal viewpoint. If a group is either Icelandic progressive or hard-rock traditionalist, yes, they are accepted. However, any group inclined towards—uncommon practices—neither one nor the other—is viewed with great suspicion. We have been at loggerheads with the Ministry for a decade now. We have always prevailed in court whenever they have tried to compel us to fit into their pre-conceived mould but it is expensive and tiring. Now they are simply trying to get rid of us."

"I am so sorry for you. I will delete this application immediately and refer the case to the Court of Human Rights. Good . . . ."

"No, Osted. When we found that the application had been filed without our knowledge or consent, we were, as you can imagine, very angry. But we have had nearly a month to think about this. We actually know very little about Project Lifeboat but some among our leadership are starting to think that perhaps this is not such a bad thing. I, especially, am heartily tired of the incessant wrangling and attempts at niggling oppression. If you could give us a complete rundown of what going to the stars entails, perhaps we may very well endorse the application. Do not delete it, not just yet."

"As you wish. And you will need time to study the process and discuss it within your group. When I first received the application I was very excited and ready to act on it forthwith. But now I see that haste is not a good approach. Yes, Speaker, you will receive a complete description of the process of colonization and all its ramifications and you will need time to digest it. Shall we set a new meeting for—say, a month from now?"

"That would be satisfactory, Ostad Mozandarami. We will talk again then. Good day to you."

"And good night to you, Speaker."

*****

The next months had been difficult but Ný Heimasíða had been founded and then forgotten for fifty years. And in those ensuing decades other groups had been 'volunteered' as colonists. Sufis, Afrikaners, Neo-Marxists, Lebensraumers, True Path Maoists and lastly the New Middle Kingdom had all been 'invited' to find their own way amidst the stars. Each had been given a planet, an economic base and the latest updated Library.

But even with the best preparation, Dr. Mozandarami had doubts that all would survive. He had high hopes for the hard-bitten folk from Cape Province and the technologically strong New Middle Kingdom and gave the Sufis the benefit of the doubt. The others, he feared, would probably fight amongst themselves and fall back into a Dark Age before returning to a civilized state—assuming they didn't just eat each other into extinction. But five out of eight was a pretty good average and he was now confident that within a million years, an eye-blink in galactic terms, Humanity would own the Milky Way.

After a frugal supper, Ebrahim took the elevator to the top of the tower block and stepped out onto the roof. The air was humid, sultry and heavy with impending storm and he happily crossed the patio where most of those who lived in apartments below spent their recreational time. He walked along a narrow, winding path through the New Guinea rain forest. Two full meters of natural soil topped the 400 meter building and in it grew as close an approximation of the original jungle as the eco-gineers could manage.

Ebrahim stopped at a viewing window. The roof on the next-over tower block mirrored his as did its sides, interspersed with similarly planted balconies. Lianas trailed down the sheer walls and through the sky holes of the structure while birds and enormous butterflies darted from one to another. He nodded to himself. The centuries of strip-and-exploit were long over, now. Worldwide, roofs duplicated the original ecosystems of the continents. Even the long-devastated shores of the Mediterranean were again alive with oak, olive and cypress, northern Europe was heavily forested and the center of North America grew grass three meters high. Today mankind lived vertically between the bedrock and primordial landscape. The air was clean and fresh and Humanity's much reduced population was again close in spirit to its hunter/gatherer origins, at least when it wanted to be.

Farther along the trail, Ebrahim sat down next to the bole of a forest giant, leaned back and stared up at the sky. The day was nearly over and stars twinkled in the moist atmosphere.

Somewhere out there was Ný Heimasíða. Of all the colonies Dr. Mozandarami had helped found, it remained closest to his heart and he chortled in self-satisfaction at having been able to upgrade their Library so stealthily. That sneaky little minx thought she could hack the Gate? Hah! It had not been the first attempt but Lanhua had been far and away the most able infiltrator. None other had gotten so deep into the Library and its Core and he suspected it would be rather a while before someone did again. No matter. The Library constantly updated itself and any hacker who got as far as the Gate itself would be the perfect choice to send with updates to the next colony in line. He hoped she was settling in well because in another few decades, when Ebrahim Mozandarami was up for retirement, he intended to go find out, personally.