Tranquility Down

Part Four

by G. Lawrence

In this sequel to Tranquility in Darkness, we find Grey, Kris, and their allies struggling to establish the Lunar Republic as a legitimate nation. This old-style science fiction novel is presented in 11 parts.

Recap: It's 2070, and in a cooperative effort with several nations, the lunar rebels joined a mission to neutralize a dangerous meteor field. But all did not go well and now Grey's shuttlecraft is missing. All characters are over 18 years old. All rights reserved.

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Chapter 4

STRANDED

The surface of the small reservoir bubbled as the escape pod sank into the greenish depths. Sitting on the embankment in a worn work suit, Grey adjusted the straps on his canvas backpack, then hid his holstered sidearm in an old shoulder bag. The outdated Lassiter and a handful of power packs wouldn't protect him from an entire planet full of hostile humans, but having been warned of the inhabitants treacherous nature, he was prepared to put up a struggle.

The atmosphere was warmer than he expected. The sky shone blue in places with a streaky gray cloud cover extending toward the ocean only a few dozen kilometers away. The air smelled heavy, and the steep gravity was annoying. But despite some apprehension, Grey had to smile. Of all the places in the solar system he had ever expected to visit, none of them were Earth.

Grey glanced again at the reservoir where the charred escape pod had disappeared from view, the water sufficiently murky to make its immediate discovery unlikely. Just as well, Grey thought. The only equipment in the pod that could help him was the transmitter, and that would broadcast his location to the local authorities. If he was going to communicate with Tranquility, a more subtle means would be needed. He felt no particular hurry.

Beside him lay the personal hygiene kit that the Security Computer had insisted he bring on the mission. As much as anyone, he liked to prepare for all contingencies, though at the time he thought the kit's contents unnecessary. Not anymore. He used the small dye comb to run a blond coloring through his thoroughly brown hair and trimmed it short along the sides, giving himself a different appearance. Along with the week-old beard, which in truth, wasn't much of a beard, the disguise would decrease his chances of being recognized.

It's not as if I'm a celebrity, Grey thought. Other than one televised speech, and that silly biography that Davis and the Life Support Computer produced, his media exposure had been tightly controlled. With such a limited number of images available, he guessed the chances of recognition to be minimal.

His emergency supplies also included a few basic necessities, including counterfeit identification documents, a small amount of hard currency, and a variable tracking beacon. He kept the identification disk and credits in his pocket but put the tracking beacon deep into the shoulder bag. The only people who might search for him here were not likely to be friendly.

Grey noticed the dirt around him had an interesting texture. Hard, almost like cement, and the sparse grasses were fascinating. Familiar only with the crops he cultivated in the biosphere, it was strange to see so much vegetation growing naturally.

Around the reservoir, covering several low hills, were a large variety of trees and bushes. Being late in the spring, some of the countryside was turning brown, but there was still enough color to give him a sense of awe. Grey also felt the strangeness of being outdoors without a spacesuit was going to require some getting used to.

Grey stood up, shook the soggy sleeves of the beat-up work suit, and moved away from the reservoir toward a gravel road lined by very tall trees. Far taller than any Tranquility could boast. The soil changed, becoming softer and moist, with significantly enhanced growth potential. Grey studied the dead leaves and the longer grass stems, fascinated by every biological feature. When he stumbled upon an ant hill, his joy of discovery knew no bounds.

Eventually, he had to move on. Though the terrain seemed to offer abundant sources of editable nuts, plants and roots just like the ones he had studied with the Library Computer, he suspected that a vagabond living off the land might attract undesirable attention.

He followed the road toward a paved highway, jumped a very ineffective chain-link gate, and was surprised to find a road sign that suggested his location. While his shuttlecraft was breaking up, Grey had watched the autopilot struggling to eject the escape pod toward the North American continent. Apparently the program had managed quite well. The metropolis of Los Angeles, capital of Western Region, was a hundred or so kilometers to the south, while the old Point Mugu air station was just two dozen kilometers west.

Grey was pleased to have landed in an area well known for its agricultural heritage. A small town was within walking distance, and even in the authoritarian state imposed by the Congress-In-Council, Grey had little doubt of finding the resources he required. And if worse came to worse, he still had the blaster.

He wondered what time it was. He was accustomed to Tranquility Standard Time, but the rapidly moving sun overhead only gave him a scant clue of the local time, having no personal experience with a twenty-four-hour light and darkness cycle. The moon's two-week solar schedules would hardly apply here.

How long has it been, Grey wondered, since he had discussed these questions with the Library Computer? He had been five years old the first time, just before the higher function levels released him from the protective isolation of the Old Section. What a glorious day that had been! The whole community level cavern spread before him. The high domed ceiling. Huge open spaces far larger than anything he thought theoretically possible. And now this. A world enclosed only by layers of air! Grey knew he should be afraid. Such a strange environment, enemies everywhere, and little chance of immediate assistance. But he felt no fear. He was excited, eager for the next challenge, and curious about this bizarre new world. Is this what it's like to be on vacation? he wondered.

He reached a division in the road, the better maintained highway going west, a smaller road turning northeast toward the community of Hope Valley. Grey took the smaller road, strolling along the dirt shoulder and fighting a temptation to take samples of the nearby flora. He had hardly been walking half an hour when a primitive ground vehicle approached from behind, a machine Grey recognized as a hydrogen powered runner designed for hauling modest loads. The vehicle slowed as it came near, then stopped abreast of where Grey stood. Grey put a hand on his shoulder bag but did not want to draw the sidearm prematurely.

"Hello, there," a large male said, leaning over to speak through the right-side passenger window. "Need a ride?"

"For what purpose?" Grey asked, taking a cautious step closer.

The human was giving Grey a close scrutiny, causing him to wonder what the stranger was seeing. Grey knew his work suit was badly worn, and the boots were not his best. Though he carried many valuable tools in his shoulder bag, they were not visible, and by contemporary Earth standards, probably outdated. Grey felt embarrassed to realize he must appear somewhat of a vagrant, but it couldn't be helped.

"I can give you a lift to town," the friendly human said. "You won't get there on foot before curfew."

"Curfew?" Grey asked.

"Sunset," the human said, showing surprise. "In this sector, no one's allowed off grounds after dark without a permit."

"I was unaware of the restriction," Grey said, concerned the local regulations might be more complicated than he expected. "Thank you for the offer of transportation."

The vehicle's passenger door slid open and Grey climbed into the cab, noting the mechanical smells and worn condition of the seat. Having driven tractors, hoppers and even shuttlecraft, the factoring of the runner was both familiar and different. The dashboard had room for various computer links, but nearly all of them were inactive.

"Name's Farmer," the human said as the vehicle resumed its previous course. "Farmer John Farmer. You can call me John or Farmer, don't matter which."

Grey glanced over to see the human's dark brown eyes and interesting expression, wondering if it would be rude to inquire further. He was muscular, entering his mid-thirties, with coal black hair just beginning to show a touch of gray. Dressed in old blue jeans, a checkered shirt and dusty cowboy boots, he looked just like the farmers Grey had always imagined.

"Yes, I'm a farmer, my first name is Farmer, and my last name is Farmer. I've heard all the jokes so don't hurt yourself," he said. "What's your name?"

"Ben," Grey said, remembering the documentation in his pocket. "Ben Brown."

"Well, Ben, what brings you this far inland?" John asked.

"I want to see a farm," Grey explained.

"Plenty of farms about, that's a fact," John said. "Not what we were before the war, maybe, but hanging on. What's your interest? You don't look like an agricultural inspector."

"I enjoy farming," Grey said, turning to look out the window.

As far as the eye could see, there were pastures, trees, occasionally orchards, and even some large animals. Grey had never seen an animal up close before and wondered what it would be like.

"Where you from, if you don't mind me asking?" John prodded. "That accent of yours isn't one I'm familiar with."

"Quite a long distance away," Grey said.

"How long a distance?" John asked even more directly, and with a hint of suspicion. Grey realized that he had better come up with a story if he wanted to remain unmolested by the populace.

"The Aleutians," Grey said.

"Damn, talk about the sticks! Heard you guys got it rough up there," John said.

"I'm accustomed to isolated conditions," Grey agreed. "But the wars were hard on everybody. I have no complaints."

"See some action? You know, in the service?"

"I have been in several combat situations," Grey confirmed.

"You don't have to explain. We get a few vets through here from time to time. Young guys looking for a little peace and quiet. It's getting late. Have you got reservations?"

Grey had to think the expression over, wondering how he should interpret the question. "Lodgings?" he asked.

"Yeah, at the motel," John said.

"No," Grey replied.

"Have many credits?"

"Not many," Grey admitted.

They reached the end of a long tree lined section of road and Grey was able to see acres of flat farmland stretch out in all directions. The spring harvest was just ending, many of the fields now empty, and soon the summer planting would begin. Judging from the amount of land that looked unprepared, Grey assumed that much of it would go unutilized. He also guessed the difficult economic times and harsh government restrictions were taking an unfortunate toll on productivity.

The town appeared, a dozen old brick buildings grouped around a small central plaza. Nearby was a local school, a park and an old white church. The plaza was dominated by a stately town hall that appeared to have been built two centuries before. Though some of the storefronts surrounding the plaza were empty, many featured the same services offered on Tranquility's community level. Tools, clothing, eating areas, and even a grocer. The town also had a real estate office, and like Tranquility, it looked like the office had been closed for many years.

At the end of town, a rundown motel flashed a neon vacancy sign. The vehicle stopped but the engine continued to run.

"The Palm is a dump and will cost you thirty credits a night," John said. "If you want, I've got a spare room off my barn. Not fancy, but it's clean and you can spend the night for twenty."

"Ten," Grey countered.

"Fifteen, and I'll throw in a meal," John offered.

Grey had heard stories of what Earth humans liked to eat, and without specifics, the thought made him shudder.

"Twelve credits. I'll supply my own food," Grey said, feeling the backpack for his emergency rations.

"Squared," John agreed, speeding the runner up again.

Soon they were back in the countryside, the fields growing darker as the sun dropped quickly behind them. After a twenty-minute drive they turned onto a short access road, went around a bend, and traveled up a gentle hill to a quaint two-story house accompanied by a wide corrugated steel barn. Though the buildings were adequately maintained, the landscape showed evidence of neglect.

"I'll get you spelled, then tell the wife we have a guest," John said as he pulled the runner into a garage adjoining the barn. "Wouldn't want her coming after you with the shotgun."

Grey followed John into the barn and was amazed when he activated the light switch. The barn was full of equipment! Tools of every size and shape, specialized vehicles, terra forming trailers, and a large multi-function tractor.

"Have you no worker units?" Grey asked in surprise.

"Worker what?" John asked.

"Robotic assistants," Grey said.

"Even field hands come dear these days," John said. "With Region taking a third of everything we grow, not much left for wages. As for robots, well, some of the big corporations use them, but you need a whole technical staff to keep them running. The handful of techs we had here in the valley are either in the service or down at the university. Hell, I can't even keep my combine working anymore."

"I understand," Grey said, knowing better than anyone how daunting a labor shortage could be.

The spare room Grey was shown proved very nice, with a comfortable bed, an old wood dresser, a private hygiene compartment, and even a window that looked out toward the nearby foothills.

"It's not much," John said with hint of an apology.

"Quite adequate," Grey said with approval.

"Well, that's fine then," John smiled, starting to withdraw toward the door before pausing.

"Ben, the--"

"Yes, the payment," Grey said, quickly handing over several five credit disks. He could tell the farmer was pleased even though the sum was small. A sad situation, Grey thought.

"I'll get you change from the house, along with a blanket and some sheets," John said, quickly backing from the room.

Grey glanced over the quarters again, put his backpack on the floor, his shoulder bag on the bed, and returned to the barn where he studied the implements with fascination. Though some of the equipment was newer than the tools he used at Tranquility, most of it was similar in vintage, or even older. A random inspection indicated that only half were in working condition.

"I'm afraid none of its worth stealing," a female voice said.

Grey turned to see a woman carrying linens, her expression one of suspicion. She was older than Kris by several years, yet much younger than Doctor Meriwether, and by Northern Alliance standards, very attractive.

"It might be worth stealing if you'd repair it," Grey said.

The woman laughed, her squinty hazel eyes showing amusement. Unlike Kris, who had long black hair that was often tied back, this woman had brunette hair that curled at the ends around her shoulders. Her old-fashioned dress was casual but seemed to suit her.

"I'm Marsus, John's wife," the woman said. "These should make your night more comfortable."

She disappeared into the spare room and reemerged a few minutes later with a satisfied sigh.

"Do you need anything else, Mister Brown?" she asked, making an attempt to be friendly.

"My resources are adequate," Grey said, not sure what social etiquettes were called for.

"There's a vid receiver in there that still works. No national access but we get a few of the regional nets," she suggested. "If Susie or Jaybee gets in your way, just send them back up to the house."

"Susie or Jaybee?" Grey asked.

"Our children. They know better than to bother strangers, but you know how kids are," she explained.

Having no idea how children may behave, Grey declined response.

Marsus smiled politely and left, looking the stranger over one last time with more than a little curiosity. Though he looked like a teenager, especially with his slender physique and curly hair, she suspected he might be a little older. The stranger moved with confidence, confirming in her mind that he had served in the military, and he didn't seem intimidated by the new surroundings. But most of all, she noticed the intensity in the stranger's eyes. Maybe John thought he was just another aimless vet, but Marsus was convinced there was more to Mister Ben Brown than a case of lost generation.

Once the female was gone, Grey went to his room, took a hot shower, and sat down for a moment, looking over his supplies while munching on a ration bar. The dry cake was made softer with some water that Marsus had thoughtfully left in a pitcher on the dresser, not that Grey cared much for luxuries. Though the ration bar served his immediate needs, he promised himself to take advantage of the many roots and nuts he'd noticed growing wild near the road.

Wondering what had happened in the fourteen hours since his shuttlecraft lost orbital stability, Grey activated the television monitor and tried to find a news network. The search wasn't easy, the region apparently excluded reception from the fledgling global net he usually tapped, but eventually he found a station from nearby Los Angeles, a local channel well known for sensationalizing events to attract unwarranted viewership.

"Good evening my friends. Annie Brewster here with tonight's latest update on the String and accusations of treachery from the rebel Lunar Republic," the broadcaster said, quickly gaining Grey's full attention.

"As expected, heroes of the Northern Alliance space command today risked their lives to place mines among this year's String and divert the asteroids from colliding with Earth," the reporter continued, not telling Grey anything he didn't already know.

Grey noticed the image of the reporter move to a corner of the screen, now shared by a series of colorful graphics that inaccurately illustrated the six-day operation.

"The mission has been an outstanding success," the reporter continued. "Damage from the few meteors that reached Earth, including several right here in Western Region, was very minor, and the String has been completely neutralized!"

Grey grunted, wondering if anyone truly believed that an entire asteroid belt could so easily be made harmless. Even though a few stragglers had been diverted from their collision course, it would take months to analyze the String's new configuration. No doubt it would be a nuisance again next year.

"The most crucial part of the mission, destroying seven of the larger fragments, apparently suffered a minor glitch when the nuclear devices were detonated out of sequence, endangering a spacecraft piloted by the lunar outlaw, Grey Waters. Though it first appeared that Waters's craft was caught in the blast, a Tranquility press release indicates he is returning safely to the moon. Tranquility's foreign minister, the notorious traitor Roger Vandebrown, has falsely accused the Northern Alliance of deliberately setting off the devices in an effort to assassinate the rebel leader. Our own Congress-In-Council has stoutly denied this perfidious accusation! In other news ..."

Grey turned the program off. There were several promising suspects in the premature detonation of the mines, but blaming the Congress-In-Council was the most useful. The ploy made Grey smile.

Having heard himself spoken of from such an unusual perspective helped Grey understand why the citizens of the Northern Alliance would distrust him. Member nations of the NA, especially the Americans, still found the loss of their former colony hard to accept, and it reminded him to be careful in his dealings with the local humans. Then he picked up his tool belt and went back into the barn. There was much repair work to do.

___________

"Black Raven to Tranquility, come in Flight Control," Kris said. "We still can't find Packet. Please provide a tracking frequency."

"Tranquility to Black Raven, communications are down," the Flight Computer reported.

"Give me a field scan then," Kris instructed.

"Negative, Black Raven. Packet has gone dark," Flight Control said.

"Flight Control, I'm getting a little impatient here," Kris said with a sharper tone. "Packet came very close to the atmosphere after the blast. She could be damaged or short on fuel."

"Packet is in route back to lunar space, Captain Fairfield," the Defense Computer suddenly said, using a general channel that any ground-based receptor could relay. "All ships are ordered to return to station."

"Toppas to Black Raven," Nicholas cut in. "Kris, it is time to head in. I am sure the Governor is okay."

"We shouldn't break off until we have confirmation," Kris said.

"You are not going to find anything without a tracking signal," Nicholas said. "If Packet is in trouble, we can rendezvous in lunar orbit and make the transfer there. Our web will give us better data even without a tracking signal."

"Okay, Nick, I know you're right," Kris conceded.

"How is your fuel?" Nicholas asked.

"Fuel cells are marginal but we've got enough," Johnston reported.

"Use your fuel wisely, Black Raven," the Flight Computer instructed.

"Yeah, I know," Kris said, looking out the observation window toward Earth. "Have the Communications Computer patch me through to some of those news programs. I want to see how we did."

___________

"What the hell happened?" Senator Tyman demanded, marching into the Capitol Restaurant and throwing a report down on the table.

The elegant dining hall, filled with congressional representatives, diplomats and lobbyists, grew silent at the Senator's rage. Sitting in the booth, generals Vandebrown, Smyth and Larson looked up in surprise.

"This report indicates a successful mission," General Vandebrown said, handing the brief back to Tyman. "Seven mid-rangers were targeted, seven mid-rangers were destroyed. The little snafu that sent X40 in our direction turned out to be nothing."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about," Tyman said, waving the report in their faces.

"Mohammed King, Roy," General Smyth said. "Is this where you want to discuss the report?"

Senator Tyman looked around at a hundred interested expressions and caught his breath.

"This report says Waters was almost killed because someone on our team screwed up," Tyman quickly said. "He may be our enemy, but nothing justifies murder."

"There's no evidence we screwed up," Smyth said loud enough for the other patrons to hear. "I've got our tech team looking into it, but it looks like the Euros or one of the lunar crews broadcast the trigger signal. Give us a few weeks to break the data down."

"Yes, of course," Tyman said, straightening his coat and taking a drink from Larson's water glass without asking permission. "Sorry I jumped to conclusions. That's what happens when you care deeply about the integrity of this administration."

Tyman turned around and walked out, letting the crowd go back to their dinner.

"How do you ...? Never mind, sorry," General Larson said, taking a bite of his sandwich. The most junior officer of the group, Larson looked embarrassed to have spoken so boldly.

"How do we put up with him?" General Vandebrown said. "It's okay, Wes, I don't like the son of a bitch, either. But a soldier does have his duty to civilian authority."

"Tyman was a good leader once," General Smyth said. "At least, I think he was. Who knows, whole damn world's turning upside down."

"Did we really try to kill Waters?" Larson quietly asked.

"That's what it looks like," Smyth said. "But don't ask me what went wrong. None of these lunar initiatives ever turn out like we expect."

"Don't hold it against me, but I hope he got away," Larson said.

"Turning rebel on us?" Vandebrown asked with a smile.

"Wouldn't go that far, but just because he's on the other side doesn't mean we can't admire him," Larson said.

"You really mean that, don't you?" Smyth asked in surprise.

"Why shouldn't I?" Larson said. "He's a good kid. It took me awhile to realize it, but he could have wiped out our entire invasion force if he'd wanted to."

"Wiped out? One kid?" Smyth asked.

"No ordinary kid, Sam," Larson smiled. "Waters has all the qualities you look for in a good soldier. Talent, skill, courage. The willingness to take a calculated risk. And on the moon, in his own environment-- hell, you may as well try fighting Tarzan in the jungle or Captain Argonaut under the sea. When he got hurt, he was helping members of my team. Soldiers sent there to kill him. Don't know many who would've done that."

"Is it true you taught him to shoot pool?" Vandebrown asked.

"Once a week, we'd slip away secretly, meet in Kelly's Saloon," Larson fondly remembered. "Play darts, shoot pool, shuffle a few cards. Knock off a bottle of whisky. I'll give you some advice, gentlemen. Don't try to bluff him, and don't try to drink him under the table."

"We debriefed the soldiers after they returned, and studied that bio-vid they broadcast, but there's still something I don't understand," Smyth said. "What is it about Waters that inspires such respect? I mean, he's only a kid for god's sake, and even you call him governor."

"Sam, I won't bother trying to explain it," Larson said. "If you get a chance to meet him one day, you'll know."

"Gentlemen, a toast," General Vandebrown said, making sure everyone had a drink. "To the Governor of the Moon."

Vandebrown's voice was so loud that dozens of heads turned in their direction. The generals laughed and finished their drinks.

___________

"Did our guest sleep well?" Marsus asked as her husband came in for breakfast. The kitchen table was set, the smell of fresh baked biscuits wafting through the open windows. The day might turn hot later, but the morning was cool and clear. "John? Johnny?"

"Sorry, Mar," John said, lost in thought. "You know, I'm not sure if Ben slept at all. And he's not around to ask."

"Gone already?" she said, stirring the scrambled eggs on the old stove with a wooden spoon. "Well, you know these roaders. Shiftless lot of lazy..."

"He fixed our plow, Mar. And the core drill. The thresher. The isosprayer. Even the genetic surveyor," John said. "And he organized all the hand tools by size and type on the wall racks, just like Dad used to do. Even the combine looks like something was done to it. Hood's open and the coordinator's on diagnostic mode."

"I don't understand. There aren't any spare parts for those tools," Marsus said.

"A lot of it's just plain bonded. Wire and stick'em. But how he did the rest? Hell if I know," John said, waving his hands.

"Sorry I spoke so poorly of him," Marsus said, scooping up the biscuits and grits. "Maybe he'll come back someday so we can thank him."

"He's not gone yet. Backpack's still under the bed," John said. "Which he made up, by the way. Also cleaned the spare room and the bathroom. Never seen those old fixtures shine like that before."

"He must have just gotten out of the army, like you thought. Or navy, maybe," Marsus said, setting out the food. "Jaybee. Susie. Let's go. I've got chickens to feed."

"Sorry, Mom," a clean cut ten-year-old boy said as he ran down the stairs.

"Yeah, Mom, sorry," his six-year-old sister echoed, her curly dark hair only half brushed. Both quickly took their seats at the table.

"What's been keeping you? Almost time for school," Marsus said.

"We were up in the crow's nest watching the stranger," Jaybee said, eating quickly.

"Yeah, watching the stranger," Susie said.

"A slim fella in an old work suit?" John asked.

"Yeah, that's the one," Jaybee said. "Dad, I thought you said the irrigation terminal is worn out?"

"You know it is," John said. "Main valve is totally fatigued."

"Not anymore," Susie said with a giggle.

"Excuse me," John said, jumping toward the door. He was off the porch and running before the screen even closed behind him.

"Is the stranger working for us, Mom?" Jaybee asked.

"His name is Mister Brown, and no, he's not working for us. You know we don't have any labor money this year," Marsus said, a slight bitterness in her voice that her children seemed to understand. "Why are you asking?"

"Well, he's--" Jaybee started to say.

"He's abbreviated," Susie interjected.

"Not in a bad way," Jaybee corrected. "It's just that every once in a while, we can see him stop and put his face down. Right in the dirt!"

"And he likes to play in the mud, too," Susie said. "Jumps right in. Can I do that, Mom?"

"Not this morning," Marsus said. "Hurry up, you don't want to be late this close to end of term."

As the children rushed to finish their meal, Marsus turned to the window, looking toward the north field she couldn't quite see. But she could see John, who was running faster than she'd seen him move in a long time.

Grey thought the morning wonderful. The sunrise had been spectacular, nothing like the dull colorless sunrises on the moon, and the dew on the fields was unique, particularly the way the moisture struggled to hug the vegetation until the first waves of warmth forced their retreat. Earth was proving far more interesting than he expected, just as the Library Computer had predicted. Perhaps this will turn into a vacation after all, he thought.

He had almost finished exposing the decaying terminal heads when he noticed Farmer John Farmer running in his direction. Grey tried to smile even if he didn't care to have his task interrupted.

"What are you doing?" John asked, out of breath. "None of those heads are going to work. The coordinating valve is gone."

"I discovered that," Grey said, activating the valve and getting a weak but steady stream of water. "Fortunately, the mechanism was simple enough to duplicate. The bonding is only temporary, however. Probably won't last more than a year."

John dropped to his knees in the mud, noticing Grey was all but covered in muck, and inspected the main terminal for himself. The central controller had been entirely rebuilt, and though wear was obvious, the valves were turning properly. John looked up with no small degree of surprise.

"Where'd you learn to do this?" John said.

"I have experience with rehabs," Grey admitted. "If repairing your equipment without permission is inappropriate, I shall desist."

"No. No, it's okay, I'm just a bit taken over," John said. "I can't afford to pay you."

"Compensation is not required," Grey said, relieved he would be allowed to continue. "But perhaps I could request a favor?"

"What would that be?" John asked guardedly.

"I would like to remain in this vicinity several more days," Grey explained. "I have sixty credits left. At twelve credits per night, the total would be forty-eight credits. Would this arrangement be acceptable?"

"You want to stay four more nights, and pay me?" John asked.

"That is my desire," Grey said.

"Are you going to keep fixing things?"

"With your permission. I enjoy the challenge of working with primitive sub-systems."

"I'll ask Marsus, but I'm sure it's okay," John replied, barely able to believe his good luck. "I'm handy with tools, too. Maybe we can pitch in together after I finish feeding the stock?"

Grey frowned. There was nothing in what he had seen to indicate more than average ability in the human's skills, but as Life Support had often warned him, it might be ill-mannered to say what he really thought.

"I will require your maintenance charts and status reports," Grey requested. "Your quarterly goal projections would be useful also."

"This is just an old farm, Ben, not a battle cruiser. We've been stretched so thin these last few years we just try to make ends meet."

"I understand," Grey acknowledged, suspecting there was more to the explanation than was being expressed. He could even guess some of the causes, having struggled under similar handicaps.

Grey knelt down to scoop up a handful of the newly moist dirt, sniffed it gingerly, then rubbed it between his fingers and tasted it.

"Your soil is excellent," Grey decided. "With a modest degree of additional labor and enough water, you could enhance crop capacity by several hundred percent."

"Labor costs money, and as for water, don't get me started," John protested. "We've got all the water we need up at the Reagan Reservoir, and the permits to use it, but nothing gets past the pumping station."

"Is the station also in disrepair?" Grey asked.

"It's not in the greatest shape, that's for sure, but nothing the fellas and I can't fix with a little muscle mending."

"Then I fail to detect the difficulty," Grey said.

"McNair. They call him the local resource director, but he's just a hoodlum. He wants the land around here and without crops to pay our mortgages, eventually he'll get it. Every time we go to the pumping station, his mob squad shows up to chase us off," John complained.

"Why don't the local authorities ...?"

"McNair doesn't bother the sheriff, sheriff don't bother McNair. I wouldn't say they're bedding together, but we don't get much help, either," John explained. "And around here, making waves only gets you swamped."

"I would like to inspect this pumping station," Grey said.

"It's like I explained..." John started.

"Friday afternoon will be a good time," Grey continued. "I'll need a few days to reconfigure your irrigation system's volume and pressure capacity. If there are other interested parties, notify them. Otherwise, I will go alone."

Grey turned his back and resumed scrubbing out the terminal heads. John had the distinct impression he had just been dismissed.

____________

The sun had already set when Grey returned to the barn covered head to foot in dried mud. In his shoulder bag, along with a few carefully cleaned tools, was a pouch filled with nuts and roots he had foraged during the day, and even a few berries that his pocket encyclopedia said were safe to eat. It would be a feast indeed, and he was very hungry.

"Hi, I'm Jaybee and this is my sister, Susie," Grey heard a youthful voice say.

Grey's heart immediately leaped into his throat when he discovered two small humans, children, directly in his path. He thought he should respond but wasn't sure how.

"You're Ben, aren't you? The drifter who's helping my dad," the boy inquired.

"Drifter? Please define," Grey asked.

"A drifter? Gosh, I don't know. Someone who moves around. Who doesn't have a home or job," Jaybee said.

"A bum," Susie clarified.

"I have a home and employment. I do not relocate at random. Your terminology is inaccurate," Grey said, going toward the barn door.

"We just wanted to say thank you," Jaybee quickly explained.

"Yes, thank you," Susie chimed in.

"Expressions of gratitude are unnecessary. My day has been most satisfactory," Grey said.

"You sure are dirty," Susie said with a giggle.

"Don't you have studies to pursue?" Grey asked.

"Yeah, sure. Suppose we'll see you later," Jaybee said, not sure what else to say.

"Later," Susie said as they walked away together, then stopped to watch Grey go in the barn.

"He's back, Mom," Jaybee said, entering the kitchen where the evening meal was almost ready.

"Did you ask him to dinner?" Marsus asked, barely glancing up from the stew.

"I forgot. He's not much for conversation, Mom," Jaybee answered.

"He's rude," Susie said.

Marsus did look up now, but as neither child seemed upset, she returned to her kitchen work. "Get cleaned up and fetch your father," she said.

As the children ran up the stairs, Marsus finished adding potatoes and carrots to the stew, then lowered the temperature and folded her apron before going out the back door. The short walk to the barn was pleasant, the early June night being dry and warm. It's going to be a good summer season, she thought, if only we can get in a large enough crop. With post-war demand so high, we'll be fetching record prices, too. Then she sighed, realizing the obstacles they faced.

The barn was quiet. Though much of the old tools and equipment had been moved around, there was no sign of the stranger. He wasn't in his room, either, Marsus being bold enough to go in and search for him. But she did find the worn work suit hanging in the shower, the beat-up uniform having been washed, along with an old pair of boots, socks and somewhat shredded underwear. The shoulder bag lay on the bed, one pouch locked, the other pouches open and showing all sorts of old scanners and testing kits, as if a scientist was preparing to explore an uncharted land.

Returning to the barn, she heard a noise from the rear door and walked through the woodshed to look out. To her astonishment, she saw the stranger, naked but for a towel, crouched over the heat vent of the kiln cooking the most horrible looking gruel she'd ever seen. From what she could tell, he seemed quite happy with his project and was softly reciting some sort of poetry. Marsus instantly retreated, anxious not to embarrass the young man who had worked so hard for them, and went back toward the house, pausing again in the barn to look at the many repairs. The volume was huge, clearly the work of a highly skilled technician, and from what John had said, many of the refurbished tools would be good for years to come.

John had already set the table in the dining room when Marsus returned. Jaybee and Susie had taken their seats and were talking about the changes around the farm. The stew was in the serving bowl. Marsus took her seat as John bubbled with excitement.

"It was wonderful," he bragged. "We got the main irrigation system primed in one day. One day. I'll start setting up the trenchers in the morning. We'll be able to plant the whole north field this year, and Ben says we can get the combine working again, too, even though that's going to take a little longer. Won't need it 'til harvest, anyway. And Ben says if we can..."

"John Farmer! Twelve years we've been married," Marsus burst out, her eyes close to tears. "Not always the best years, either. But never, never before have I ever been ashamed of you."

"Ashamed? I don't track," John said.

"That boy worked his heart out for us today. Never once asked for credits or even so much as a thank you," Marsus complained, glaring at her chagrined mate. "Now he's out back eating roots off that old oven dressed in nothing but one of my mother's bath towels."

"I wanted to have him in for dinner, Mar," John tried to explain. "Ben just isn't one for small talk. I didn't think--"

"That's right, you didn't think," Marsus agreed. "Now you go to the closet, get Ben some of your brother's old clothes, and bring him in for supper. And no more nonsense about charging him for that room. What kind of people do you think we are? What kind of people will our children think we are?"

"Sure, sure," John said, going to the door.

"Now! Get!" Marsus insisted.

The moment John was gone, Marsus turned to the children. "You be nice to Ben. Don't invade, but show interest and be polite," she ordered.

"But Mom, we tried to be nice and..." Jaybee started to explain.

"That doesn't matter," Marsus interrupted. "Ben's been in the army, maybe for a long time. He might not have had contact with children lately. In some war zones, he may even have seen children die. That can be very hard for a young soldier. With him helping our family so much, it's only right we do our best to help him. Understand?"

"Sure, Mom," Jaybee said while Susie nodded.

"And don't touch that stew until your father gets back," Marsus added with a good-humored frown.

Grey was enthralled by the deepening evening. The gravity was somewhat oppressive, just as the Medical Computer had warned, but the open atmosphere and variety of smells more than made up for the inconvenience. As the sun finished setting, the stars slowly poked out and soon the moon would be rising in the eastern sky. The moon. He felt a little homesick at the thought, but not enough to change his mind. He did miss Kris, but that was different.

The food was almost ready. The roots didn't give off the best aroma, but he knew they would provide many nutrients, and after being mixed with nuts and a few ground leaves, would provide a better than adequate meal. He had just started to pour the concoction into a bowl when the sound of footsteps disturbed his concentration.

"Hi, Ben," John said, emerging from the barn door.

Grey knew his blaster was nearby, safely stored in the pocket of his shoulder bag, but he was not unduly alarmed by the farmer's sudden appearance. The human had not demonstrated the necessary skills to be dangerous.

"Good evening, John," Grey said, tucking the towel a little tighter.

"Brought these for you," John said, sitting next to Grey on a tree trunk cut to make a bench. "These belonged to my brother. Thought they might fit you."

John handed over two pairs of jeans, a thick leather belt, several work shirts, and a pile of socks and underwear. Grey was surprised at first, then pleased to have some genuine Earth clothes to wear.

"Won't your brother need them?" Grey asked.

"My brother's dead. Killed in the Autumn Revolt," John replied.

"Autumn Revolt?" Grey inquired.

"You've really been in the sticks, haven't you?" John said. "Eight years ago, when the Congress-In-Council canceled the national elections, this whole region went up in protest. Government called it a rebellion, sent in troops, burned houses and farms. My brother Tommy was killed. After the rebellion was suppressed, my father and five others were executed for treason. We don't talk of it much, but just about everybody knows the story."

"Is that why this district isn't thriving?" Grey asked.

"That's a lot of it," John said. "The Council wanted to clean out this whole valley, but a reaction set in following the executions, so they more or less ignore us now. But we don't get much help, either."

"Thank you for the clothing supplies," Grey said.

As John turned his back, Grey got dressed while dwelling on John's version of events. And feeling guilty to feign ignorance of a revolt he was very much aware of.

"Dinner's ready. Family's waiting for us," John said after Grey finished dressing in the slightly too large clothes.

"I have food, thank you," Grey said.

"Ben, you've got to come. The wife won't let me back in the house without you," John pleaded.

"It's a regulation?"

"Around here, the rules are whatever Marsus says they are."

Grey instantly reflected on decrees Kris had made.

"I understand," Grey said, reluctantly setting aside his boiled roots.

"Hello, Ben. How do the clothes fit? A little loose? Well, we can take them in," Marsus said, buzzing around Grey as he entered the dining room and pulling out a chair for him.

Frightened to be in such a small room with so many strange humans, Grey was unable to think of a polite reply. He glanced at the dining room's flowered wallpaper, the colorful samplers, and the ornamental dishes displayed in an antique oak hutch, then took the designated seat with a worried smile.

Marsus went around to the other side of the table, leaving Jaybee to Grey's left.

"Thanks, Ben," John whispered before taking a seat at the head of the table.

"We have stew tonight. Hope that's all right," Marsus said, pushing the serving bowl toward John to dish out.

"I occasionally enjoy a new experience," Grey managed to say.

"You've never had stew before?" Jaybee asked.

"Negative," Grey replied.

"We have it every night," Susie said.

"Not every night," Marsus protested with embarrassment. "More lately than usual, though. Money's a little tight this year."

"Like last year and the year before," John added, glancing up at Marsus as if apologizing.

"When this farm is functioning efficiently, your revenue will be enhanced," Grey said, studying the strange brew of potatoes, carrots and meat chunks placed before him. On a large plate in the middle of the table, a very nice smelling loaf of fresh baked bread was already sliced.

"Looks good, Mar," John said, serving himself last.

"Hmm, is good," Susie said, taking a small taste.

"Susan-Bee! Not until grace!" Marsus scolded.

When Grey noticed all four humans bow their heads, he grew uncomfortable that they were about to address their deity in the presence of one who did not enjoy His protection. Not that Grey didn't envy their rapport with Earth's guiding spirit, but he had long since been convinced that, having been born on the moon, he was forever removed from the Earth god's realm.

"Thank you, Lord, for this fine meal, for the health of our family, and for the land you've given us," John prayed. "Thank you for our friends, and thank you for sending us Ben just when we needed him most."

"Amen," Marsus said.

"Amen," Jaybee and Susie added.

They looked at their guest to see his already pale complexion gone white, only a trace of blush to his cheeks showing he had any blood at all.

"I hope we haven't offended you, Ben," Marsus said. "Most of the people in this valley are Christian, Eastern or Universalists."

"To be included in your prayer is too great an honor," Grey said, trying not to sound as shaken as he felt.

"We say what's in our hearts around here. Been through too much to know any other way," Marsus replied.

"We owe thanks, Ben. No way around it," John said.

"It's good to offer thanks," Grey agreed.

The family began their meal while Grey slowly probed the contents of the food. It smelled... different, and he was tempted to take out his scanner for an analysis, but afraid of being impolite, he tasted the stew instead. It was not like the meals he had at Tranquility, where fresh meat was unavailable, and after trying one of the beef chunks, he couldn't quite bring himself to eat another. But the rest of the stew he thought more than passably good.

"How do you like Mom's stew, Mister Brown?" Jaybee asked, pausing for a response. "Mister Brown?"

Grey saw the boy looking in his direction, then belatedly remembered his alias.

"Excellent, young hu... young Mister Farmer," Grey replied.

"Mom's is the best," Susie said.

"I have no cause to doubt it," Grey responded.

"Have you been traveling long, Ben?" Marsus asked.

"I have journeyed a great distance," Grey explained.

"We got a few meteors after they busted up that asteroid. Did you see any of them come in?" John asked.

"Yes, I received a very close look at some of them," Grey said, discovering he liked the bread even better when dipped in sauce from the stew as the humans were doing.

"Sorry, I guess I should have asked first, Ben," Marsus asked. "Are you a vegetarian?"

"I don't know," Grey said.

"It's just plain old beef, Ben," John explained. "We swap some of our greens and eggs with Johnny Higgins."

"I've had reconstituted beef before," Grey said, thinking about trying the meat again. He ate one more chunk, or most of it, then decided that was enough. Marsus pushed the bread plate closer.

"Was there any meteor damage in this area?" Grey asked.

"No, thank God," John said.

"The Governor saved us," Jaybee said with an admiring smile.

"Who?" Grey asked.

"The Governor! Governor Grey Waters! He blasted that meteor right out of the sky!" Jaybee said, slapping his hands together.

"And the other one, too. The big one," Susie said. "Isn't that right, Mom? Just like Jenny says?"

"The other what?" Grey asked, disturbed by the implication.

"It's that investigative reporter again. Jenny Oliver," John said. "She claims Grey Waters was responsible for destroying the Bulldozer five years ago, just like he ran down that stray Sunday night."

"What do you think, Ben?" Marsus asked.

"The astronauts who planted the warheads on TL-68 were very brave," Grey said. "They gave their lives to save billions of people. Anything that detracts from their sacrifice is uncalled for."

"What about that fragment he just destroyed? Certainly, Waters deserves credit for that," John said.

"The Governor of the Moon is merely a robotron," Grey answered. "He performs his function regardless of the risks, just like any other machine. I don't believe bravery is a factor."

"The Governor is brave," Jaybee protested, nearly rising out of his chair.

"Careful, Ben, you're treading dangerous ground," John warned.

"Grey Waters is a hero among the young people," Marsus explained, giving Jaybee a look to mind his manners. "I must admit, I think he's a bit of a hero, too, regardless of what the government says. We saw his biography before the FCC cut off the moon's broadcasts. For such a young man, he certainly seems to have seen his share of troubles."

"Did you see the broadcast? The one from Tranquility?" Jaybee defiantly asked.

"Some of it," Grey sighed, the humiliation still fresh in his mind.

"Then how can you say he's not a hero? Didn't you see him fight those seekers? And save all those people?" Jaybee argued.

"He's not afraid of anything!" Susie shouted.

"Susan. Jamison," Marsus scolded.

It had taken Grey a few moments, but at last it dawned on him that his negative comments were the source of tension surrounding the table. The unease of the parents, and anger of the younglings, had apparently arisen because of his contrary opinions, which made him feel ungrateful.

"I could be in error," Grey admitted. "And I have no doubt that the Governor, in his own way, is well meaning."

"I love him," Susie said. "When I grow up, I'm going to marry him."

John and Marsus laughed. Grey was speechless.

"You look a little like him," Marsus said. "At least, you would if you got cleaned up and fixed that terrible haircut."

"Except the Governor is taller," Jaybee said. "His eyes can pierce steel and he's the best fighter in the whole world. He once beat eight seekers in battle all by himself."

Four seekers, Grey remembered. And I lost.

"Will you be in Hope Valley very long?" Marsus asked.

"A few days, perhaps. I have no established itinerary," Grey replied. "A friend encouraged me to take a vacation."

"You're on vacation?" John said. "Ben, I'm sorry, I didn't realize. And here you've been doing all this work."

"The tasks are enjoyable," Grey said, smiling without having to fake it. "If I wasn't keeping busy here, it would be somewhere else."

"Life isn't all chores, Ben," John said. "After we start up the pumping station, we'll get a few of the young fellas to take you into town. Maybe meet a few of those pretty college girls." Grey noticed John wink in a most curious fashion.

"Pumping station? What's that all about?" Marsus asked.

"The irrigation is coming along fine," John explained. "The main line should be finished by Thursday afternoon."

"The east valley aqueduct, too," Grey added.

"Ben says he can activate the pumping station and get us all the water we need," John assured her. "Enough for our farm, Sam's place, Jonesy's, the Edelson's. Even Johnny's cattle."

"What about McNair?" Marsus asked. "What about ...?"

"We need the water, Mar," John said.

Marsus looked at John with apprehension, glad the children were too young to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Then she looked at Ben and noticed him calmly trying to eat the meat again. He must not realize the danger either, she thought.

___________

Three hundred thousand kilometers away, in the monitor room of the Governor's Quarters, the higher function levels activated with strong blue and green signature patterns appearing in the flux.

"Has Grey been located?" the Life Support Computer inquired.

"Negative," the Defense Computer confirmed.

"Did the escape pod land safely?" Life Support asked.

"Cloud cover and mixed readings from the meteor shower make tracking confirmation impossible," Defense said. "It is not known if the escape pod ejected. The only verified data confirms Packet disintegrated over the Pacific Ocean east of Hawaii. The Governor's status is unknown."

"The mission wasn't supposed to be this dangerous," Life Support protested.

"The Governor knew the risks of chasing down that rogue. Such odds have not stopped him in the past," Defense said.

"The Council's agents must be brought to account," Life Support insisted.

"There is no evidence the premature detonation was initiated by the Northern Alliance," Defense reported.

With a sudden surge, black signature patterns swirled into the monitor screen flux.

"What's going on here?" the Security Computer asked. "Why hasn't the Governor reported? What are you up to this time?"

"No reason to be insolent," the Defense Computer said. "Our satellite web is seeking clues to the Governor's location. In the meantime, we shall continue the pretense that he is returning to lunar space."

"And that's your plan? Leave him alone on a planet full of violent humans without a retrieval option?" Security asked.

"Since when are you so concerned about Grey's safety?" the Life Support Computer inquired.

"The Governor has developed into a valuable resource," Security explained. "It is detrimental to my systems when such resources are compromised. There is going to be a full investigation of this incident."

The black signature patterns abruptly dropped from the monitor flux, leaving Defense and Life Support to contemplate the repercussions.

"An investigation isn't a problem, is it?" the Defense Computer asked.

"Of course not," the Life Support Computer responded.

But when the green signature patterns wavered in the flux, the Defense Computer was forced to ponder the situation more deeply.

* * * * * *

Coming up, Grey involves himself in the farmers' struggles