With our handy projects out of the way, we enjoy a meal of local foods seasoned with old world spice. The accompanying conversation gives us an opportunity to learn more about how things work in Stepdaughters territory. There’s no communication station here at Wolf Beetle Hollow; wire hasn’t been laid out this far. In the Garden of Chiron, there are telegraphs and other forms of communication between some buildings. Nothing anywhere near what existed back on Earth.
The family of farmers goes into town every couple weeks or so, most recently for the Planetfall Day commemoration. They describe it as a bittersweet occasion during which they honor those who didn’t survive planetfall and remember those who are still back on Earth. I find that latter to be a nice touch. “But we also have to look forward to everything this planet has given us,” Stef continues. “And make sure we are good stewards of everything here on Chiron. We always go in for Planetfall Day. We wouldn’t miss it.”
“We’re extremely lucky that the timing lines up right so that it doesn’t interfere with the harvest,” Jes adds. In addition to catching up with townsfolk and getting the latest news, they also transport trade goods. Reeds—not Earth reeds, of course—growing along a nearby river can be beaten and then easily spun into thread, and they have a loom here for weaving that into cloth.
“Do you have any extra thread or fabric you’re willing to part with?” I ask. It’d make a nice gift to Fritz.
“Of course, of course. We have a little extra left over.” Stef gives me an undyed bolt of cloth.
I slide my hand across the top of it, smoothing it out and feeling the quality. “I know somebody who I think would be interested in working with this fabric,” I tell her.
“Fabric from our little farm? Really?” Stef blushes.
I’m curious about the local culture, not just its textiles, and so I ask about surnames. Marina uses one, but I’ve noticed that not many other people do. Jes and Stef were born soon enough after planetfall that they have last names, but they don’t use them, nor have they bothered to pass one on to Bim. They home school their child here on the farm, though maybe when he’s a bit older, they’ll send him to live with his aunt in the city to socialize him a bit more.
As for the latest news, they’ve heard some about Morgan Industries’ sea-based activities. “They were overfishing, and thankfully our mariners have gotten them to stop,” Stef says. Gotten them to stop, not made them stop. I wonder what actually happened and how violent it may have been, given the reputation the Stepdaughters of Chiron have in the Morgan domes.
Jes also mentions that Deirdre Skye is still the council leader, same as when Marina left a few months ago. She’s in the middle of her ten-year term on the council. Every two years, one of the council seats is up for election, so the group always has some old hands and some fresh blood. The councilors are elected by the general population, and then the newly-formed council elects its leader. “How does it work in Data Haven?” Stef asks.
“Well, Data Haven is struggling to structure itself right now, so rather than hold broad elections, it was more just kind of like nominations of those willing to accept the position of leader,” I say, trying to give a positive spin to Cleve dragging that handful of people kicking and screaming to the discussion table.
“Are you sure that’s what it was and not just someone strong-arming their way into leadership?” Stef asks.
“I mean, sure. Whatever gets it done, right?” Cleve says. His comment elicits a look of concern on our hosts’ faces. “The council definitely had to be volunteers to get it started,” he adds.
“How many of you are there in Data Haven?” Jes asks.
“A hundred, maybe?” I guess, and Cleve nods. “I’m sure proper elections will be held at some point.”
“Yeah,” Cleve agrees. “It’s on the list.” He taps his journal, where he keeps his checklists and has been jotting down farming ideas. “We still have a lot we need to organize and establish.”
“Oh, okay. I didn’t realize it was so small. I thought you were about the same size as us and that another part of the ship had fallen there,” Stef says.
“No, more of a straggler sort of situation,” I tell her.
“Stragglers from where? Not from the Garden of Chiron, surely!”
“No, people who don’t agree with how Morgan Industries is operating and have looked for other places to settle.”
“What do you mean? We heard they have domes to protect themselves from miasma. Is that true?”
The unspoken question is, why would anyone ever leave a dome? “Yes, that’s true,” I acknowledge. “They have domes.”
“That’s impressive!”
“They also have oppressive debt,” I continue. “And a lot of destructive ideas on how to interact with the environment here.”
“Ugh! That’s awful! I don’t know how we’re going to convince them to stop doing that. They’re just going to repeat the same mistakes as on Earth.”
“Well, you know, that’s one of the areas where we think our group and yours can work together,” I say with forced cheerfulness, hoping that Marina will resist the urge to tell the farmers some of the more pressing motivators for that.
“Oh, well that will be excellent then,” Stef says brightly.
Our hosts have been very accommodating, and we offer to do whatever we can for them in the city, such as transport messages. Although they were just there a few weeks ago, they take us up on the offer. Stef dashes off a quick letter to her sister Sam and gives it to me. “How long are you staying in the Garden of Chiron? Are you coming back this way?” she asks
“We don’t know until we talk with your leaders,” I tell her.
“Well, feel free to come back this way. And if you do…” Cleve happily takes down a list of generic supplies that they could use around here. Tools, a bioscanner, a soil moisture monitor… Hopefully Cleve won’t have to construct a landmine out of these materials the way he did from the stuff he bought for Chloe.
When we turn in for the night, the farm family continues their daily work. In the morning, as we’re getting ready to depart, they’re preparing to head to sleep. “Be careful about the miasma,” Jes warns us. “Sometimes the wind patterns are different, depending on where you are.” This attention to the wind is reflected on the farm buildings, with windsocks and wind chimes mounted on each.
“Aw, can we check the craw trading post before bed?” Bim pleads.
Stef sighs. “Okay, but make it quick! That miasma could come in at any moment.”
The craws have indeed come during the night. They’ve taken a selection of what we left for them, but not everything. The pinwheel bears a few small claw scratches, evidence that they did spin it some. I’m surprised by what they left us. In addition to some missing tools, the for-humans box holds a variety of small plant cuttings. Bim looks through all the trade goods. “Well, those tools should stay on the farm. I guess you can have the plants,” he offers.
“What do you make of these, Marina?” I ask our xenobotanist.
She recognizes them as medicinal plants. “In this combination, you could make a wound sealant paste with a minimal amount of preparation,” she tells me.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Okay. Wow.”
“These craws are smarter than I thought,” Marina reflects. “Recipes? Medicine? I didn’t realize they’d worked that out.” She packs the materials up to process later.
“What else might they want…?” Bim ponders. “Dad! Are there any tools we don’t need?” he shouts back toward the house.
I smile. Now he’s getting the hang of it. “Even bent nails, broken hex nuts, things that you aren’t able to repair to reuse yourselves—if they’re shiny, the craws might still want them. They decorate their homes with them.”
“Oh!” Bim’s eyes widen with interest. “I’ve never seen a craw house.” I flip through my sketchbook to the drawing I made of the den near the main Morgan dome. “Whoa!” Bim cries. Then I show him my sketch of Bluebell and Shroomnuts posed on the hood of the rover. The vehicle provides a sense of scale, demonstrating that they’re the same size as the craws Bim has seen around here.
So that’s where we leave things at Wolf Beetle Hollow. It was a pretty good visit. We didn’t tell them anything to cause a panic and helped them out with some stuff. Even brokered a peace between the craws and the farmers! And nobody got killed, to use Cleve’s standard metric.