“We’re at the stern,” he pointed out. “This is where most of the farm equipment is kept and where the agronomers work. In the bow there’s a big wheelhouse where the habitat is controlled, but there are smaller control sheds on each side.”
“This is a weird thing to say about a farm but, it’s beautiful,” I said.
“It’s not weird at all. Itisbeautiful. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Leaving that ominous thought hanging, Uncle Press started climbing back down the stairs to the main deck.
“What do you mean? What could happen?” I asked while following.
“Did you forget why we’re here?” said Uncle Press tersely.
Oh, right. Saint Dane. The turning point. For a few seconds I actually stopped worrying about him. It was hard to imagine this place facing any kind of huge turmoil. Not like Denduron. That territory was a mess from the get-go. This place seemed more like, I don’t know, Eden.
“So what do we do?” I asked, feeling kind of dumb for asking my previous question.
“I think we should live here for a while,” he answered. “If Saint Dane is here, he’ll be planning something. The best thing we can do is blend in, get to know the territory, and be ready if something strange happens.”
“Which leads me to another question,” I said.
“Of course it does,” he replied. Wise guy.
“What do you tell people when you flume to a new territory? Don’t they wonder who you are? Where you came from? Why you just happened to drop out of nowhere?”
“Ahhh,” said Uncle Press knowingly. “Good question. Obviously you can’t go telling people you’re a Traveler from a distant territory and you’re here to prevent their world from crumbling into chaos. That would be bad.”
“Yes, that would be bad,” I agreed.
“But there’s another way of saying it,” he went on. “I have told Spader that I’m from a distant habitat and my goal is to see all of Cloral. So I’m traveling around, going where my mood takes me and picking up work to help pay for my journey.”
We had reached the bottom of the tower and Uncle Press stopped and looked at me.
“The thing is,” he said with a sly smile, “that’s not far from the truth. I just leave out the part about trying to prevent the collapse of their civilization. That would be hard to explain.”
“Tell me about it,” I said.
We continued walking along the perimeter of the farm.
“So we’ll take jobs here. It’s not difficult work. They’re always looking for help. And we’ll stay vigilant. The more you know about a territory, the better chance you’ll have of helping them. That’s what I did on Denduron.”
“And when do we tell Spader that he’s a Traveler?” I asked.
“When we need to,” came the quick reply.
Uncle Press picked up the pace and I had to keep up with him. He suddenly seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere.
“Where are we going now?”
“You heard Spader!” he answered, suddenly sounding all enthusiastic. “Sniggers are on him at Grolo’s. You don’t pass up an offer like that.”
Sniggers at Grolo’s. I guessed that would be a good thing.
We walked to the far side of the habitat where the temporary housing quarters were. Close-up they looked like small apartments. Nothing fancy, but nice enough. Men and women were hanging out, some were reading, others played with their kids. Two guys were playing catch with a curved tube that looked like a boomerang. I watched as they threw it far off to the side, only to have it circle back and land right in the catcher’s hands. It was the Cloran version of playing Frisbee.
All these people wore the same lightweight, colorful clothing that Uncle Press and I now had on. We fit right in. Many smiled and waved a friendly greeting as we passed by. Uncle Press made sure to return every wave and I did the same. These people didn’t know who we were, but it didn’t seem to matter. They looked like a friendly bunch and that was okay with me.
After walking for what seemed like a mile, we came upon another row of low buildings that ran parallel to the homes along the edge. I didn’t have to ask what they were. It was a minimall Grallion-style. There was a clothing store and a place to get haircuts. A small grocery store was next to a small library and that was next to a shop that carried a little bit of everything from tools to toys to cookware. On Second Earth we had a name for this kind of store. Target.
I wondered if there was a video arcade hidden somewhere, but then figured that was probably something unique to Second Earth. Oh, well. We got to the far end of the shops and finally arrived at our destination. A carved sign over the door welcomed all who came this way. It said simply: grolo’s.
“Center of the Grallion universe,” said Uncle Press. “And the finest sniggers ever pulled on any habitat this side of center.”
“If you say so,” I said, humoring him.
“Actually I have no idea,” he said softly. “I haven’t had sniggers anywhere else, but that’s what they tell me.”
He winked and entered the pub. I was right after him, excited about finally discovering the wonders of the much-talked-about sniggers.
As we walked inside, I saw that Grolo’s was pretty much your standard tavern. I guess it doesn’t matter what territory you’re on, people like to meet and drink and swap stories and laugh too loud, because that’s exactly what was going on here. There was odd music playing, though I’m sure to the good people of Cloral it wasn’t odd at all. If I were to liken the music to something at home, I’d say it was kind of a New Age, techno, Japanese, string thing. How’sthatfor a description? I know, it makes no sense, but if you heard it, you’d agree. I have to admit, I didn’t hate it. It had kind of a dance beat and added a strong helping of feel-good to the place.
The pub was jammed. It was a mix of men and women of all ages, though I think I was the youngest there. I suddenly wondered if they would card me. That would have been embarrassing. Not only was I underage (at least by Second Earth standards), I didn’t have any ID on me at all. If anyone asked, it would have gotten tricky. But they didn’t, I’m glad to report.
Everyone seemed to be having a good time while drinking, or laughing, or telling stories, or doing all three at once. I noticed one table of people who weren’t swept up in all the revelry though. There were four people, two men and two women, who were having an intense debate. The table they sat around was covered with large pieces of paper that looked like plans of some sort. They each kept jabbing their fingers at the plans while trying to make their point.
“Agronomers,” Uncle Press said. “I think they’re the only people around here who ever get stressed.”
“How come?” I asked.
“It’s their show. Grallion is about farming and if Grallion doesn’t produce, then they’re not doing their job.”
I looked again at the agronomers, but now with respect. That’s got to be some kind of serious pressure. If they fail, people don’t eat.
“Press!” someone called out above the din. “What kept you? I thought you got into another natty-do with the sharkies!”
It was Spader. He had beaten us there. He sat on the bar, surrounded by a few other people who were laughing and drinking with him.
Uncle Press strode right up to the group.
“I thought you were in for a tum-tigger with Yenza!” exclaimed Press.
Sheesh, we’d just gotten here and Uncle Press was already picking up on the local jargon. I figured I’d better keep on my toes.
“Me?” laughed Spader with huge bravado. “Now why would dear Yenza have a row with me? I fill her life with happiness and joy!” He then added slyly, “And besides, I think she fancies me. If she were to kick me off Grallion, she’d die of a broken heart.”
Everyone laughed at Spader’s high praise of himself, but it was a friendly laugh. They knew Spader was joking. It was all just a goof.
