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CHAPTER 33

“What’s the problem?” Cade’s brisk walk slowed to a sudden halt as he ran into Richter and Diaz, standing in front of the church.

Richter shrugged, his long face drooping into a baffled frown.

“I know what you know. Something about air circulation, and a maintenance guy would meet us here.”

“We overpaid,” Diaz muttered.

Cade wanted to ask, What am I going to do about it? He didn’t, because he knew the answer. He was one of the deacons, so this was his responsibility. Even if he hadn’t the faintest idea how to fix an air circulation problem aboard the space station. Even if he was getting into a ship and being dropped onto the planet the next day.

“The committee needs to find someone to replace me” was all he said.

“No one’s going to replace you,” Diaz said.

“What about down on the planet?” Richter asked. “Is there even a church down there?”

“There must be,” Cade said, but he had no idea. If he were Mabel or Abby, he knew that at this point, he’d ask his AI for information on the subject. He refused to go down that road, though, and had trained Dummy not to volunteer, except in the case of an emergency.

“I bet there isn’t,” Richter said.

“Maybe Pastor Mickey will join me.” Cade looked up and down the corridor, hoping to spy someone in a jumpsuit, or a maintenance robot. No such luck. “He preached that sermon about hardship, didn’t he? Put his money where his mouth is, come down to the planet.”

“And leave the rest of us high and dry?” Diaz snorted. “Come on, quit being so selfish.”

“Nah,” Richter said, “you gotta do it yourself. Bible and the plow.”

“I think the Alfreds and the Hermans operate the plows,” Cade said.

“Maybe,” Richter conceded, “but they’ll suck at the Bible. It’s up to you, Cade. Lead the way. Show us how our pioneer ancestors did it.”

“Why do you want me to start a church so much?” Cade narrowed his eyes.

“So I can join it when I land!” Richter clapped him on the back.

“False,” Diaz said. “He thinks it would be funny.”

“Also that,” Richter admitted.

“Where is this guy?” Cade asked. “Any chance we can find the problem ourselves?”

“Anxious to pack?” Richter grinned.

“Yeah,” Cade said, “as a matter of fact.”

“Hold on,” Diaz said. “Hey, Vato.” Vato was the name of his AI. “Ask that guy about timing. How long do we have to wait?”

A moment later, Vato said, “He’s telling me you should just go inside. He’ll catch up.”

“Great.” Cade ran his fingers through his hair and led the way, stepping into the front door and forcing it to dilate open.

“Surprise!”

Cade heard the yell, but didn’t understand it. Then the lights sprang on inside the church, and it took him a moment to process the fact that his fellow parishioners were standing around, grinning.

There was a cake on a wheeled flexmet cart.

Then they sang “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”

Cade found that his ears were ringing, and time seemed to crawl.

“Ah, okay,” he said incisively. And, “Thank you.”

“Speech!” someone yelled.

Pastor Mickey stepped forward, and onto the corner of the low stage.

“Not you!” Klein shouted.

Mickey raised his hands to calm his parishioners. “Don’t worry, I’ll be handing the baton over to Cade in a minute. I just wanted to say two things, really quickly. The first is thanks. Cade, you weren’t deacon of Mount Moriah Church of Pegasus very long, but you made a big difference.”

Cade nodded. Someone was pressing a glass of purple alcohol into his hands. Mabel pressed forward through the crowd to his side. He saw Abby, smiling at him and for once not glued to her phone. Sam stood next to the piano, and Ana was with him.

“The second is a little irregular,” Mickey continued, “but, in the circumstances, I thought we should move forward now. On the recommendation of the committee, and with the agreement of the other deacons, I have a candidate to replace Cade as deacon.”

Unexpectedly, Mickey’s words caught Cade up short. Getting replaced that fast, before he was even really gone, was . . . efficient. But it felt like he’d died, and his widow had shown up to the wake with a new husband.

“Excellent,” he croaked. “Who do you have in mind?”

“I present for consideration to the gathered faithful,” Pastor Mickey said, winding a little theater into his voice, “as deacon of Mount Moriah, replacing Cade Oldham . . . Sam Oldham.”

The parishioners whispered.

Sam looked at Cade. Was his facial expression . . . embarrassed? Was he asking permission?

Cade smiled at his son.

“Some of you know that Sam has an upcoming court appearance,” Mickey said. “You’re expecting me now to tell you that I believe Sam is innocent. Well, he’s not. He punched that fellow. On the other hand, the guy deserved it.”

“Yes, he did!” Ana shouted.

“And also,” Mickey continued, “the Apostle Paul was a jailbird. Peter was arrested and jailed. So was our Lord, for that matter. So who am I to judge?”

“If he has to sit in the hoosegow for a month,” Richter called out, “we can pick up the slack.”

“Maybe being a deacon will help him avoid the hoosegow entirely!” Parker suggested.

“He’s taking over the carrot farm,” Cade said. “I expect he can handle a little deaconing, too.” He took a sip of his drink.

“All excellent testimonies,” said Pastor Mickey. “So, all those who are willing to support Sam in this role, please say ‘aye.’”

There followed a chorus of ayes.

“Any ‘nays’?” Mickey asked.

There were not.

“Now, Cade,” Mickey said, stepping down from the stage. “I think this is the moment for you to say a word or two.”

Cade took another sip, handed his cup to Mabel, and climbed up onto the stage.

“First of all,” he said, “this is not goodbye.”

His neighbors cheered.

“Apparently, I’m going down to pick up an abandoned colonist pack,” he continued. “It’s in a lovely valley, which might have a few bears. And not very many colonists . . . yet. So, I hope some of you will join me real soon, and the rest of you . . . as soon as it makes sense for you to come.”

There were nods and murmurs of approval.

“I guess it’s no secret that I’ve struggled with the whole Transfer thing,” Cade said. “I miss . . . home. I miss . . . ” He struggled to find words. “I miss me. It was no accident, the man I had become. I worked hard to become him. And to have him evaporate, from one instant to the next . . . ”

He stared at their faces. They were smiling, but uncertain.

Mabel climbed up onto the stage and stood beside him.

He took his drink back, smiled at his wife, and held her hand.

“You didn’t evaporate,” she said.

“So, I guess what I think I’ve learned is this. The journey I’m on is not quite the journey I thought I was on. The journey’s a little longer than I planned. I have less control over it than I expected.

“Some parts of the journey, apparently, I get to repeat. I can’t say I’m looking forward to losing my hair again. Flexmet can do a lot of things, but I don’t think it will make a good toupee. And I never would have chosen to build a new farm. Cut it out of the wilderness, learn new hills and soils, get to know a totally different climate and different crops and animals. But I’m up to it. I accept it, I choose to do it.

“And I choose Mabel. Again. Always.” He turned to look at his wife; she had tears in her eyes. “I’ve been something of a jerk about all this. Sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

She smiled and nodded.

“I’m still not coming down with you. Abby and I will come when the time is right.”

“Fair enough,” Cade agreed. “I’ll go make the farm, and a nice house in a grove of trees, ready for you when you’re ready for it. I choose you, Mabel. I got to grow old with you once, I guess I can only see it as a privilege that I get to grow old with you again.”

Mabel kissed him, and he kissed her back.

“Pastor Mickey,” Cade said, “they’re going to need churches down on the planet. And I expect there’s hardship there if you’re looking for it.”

Mickey slapped his knee and laughed.

“And the rest of you,” Cade said, suddenly finding he was out of words. “Don’t be strangers.”

* * *

Jason looked at his phone to check the time. They were going to be late. They had a couple of connections to make to get to Atlanta from Charleston.

Each state had come with a name but the local quadrant names had been left up to humans. People had, by and large, concentrated on where they lived. To avoid the “Meet me at Sixteen Thirty at Sixteen Alpha,” the decision was made, uniformly, to name sectors and quadrants. The referendums were quick choosing names.

Though there were probably more people from outside the metro Atlanta area in the Atlanta Quadrant than from in Atlanta, the name had been obvious since it was mostly people from that general region. Names like New Macon, New Cobb and others had lost to the mass acceptance.

There’d been an arm wrestle over Charleston versus Greenville but another quadrant had taken Greenville. So, it was back to Charleston. There was even a slight difference in the different areas. This corridor had . . . refined photos on the walls. There was a touch of nautical theme. There was a distinct lack of the sort of racy pictures that were to be found in Jason’s corridor.

It was even jokingly called the Battery.

The door across the corridor dilated and Elisa stepped out and threw her arms in the air.

“Ta-da!”

It. Had. Been. Worth. The. Wait.

Elisa was dressed, barely, in a Little White Dress that was brilliantly set off by the dark tan she had acquired in the last week. It also left nothing to the imagination. It was the sort of dress that anything underneath would leave a line. There were no lines.

She’d put her hair up with a jeweled device shaped like a dragon. Jason suspected the jewels were real.

The platform high heels, diamond earrings and necklace completed the simple outfit.

“You clean up nice,” she said, stroking the lapel of his evening jacket.

“It’s new,” Jason said. “New to me at least.”

Besides getting some of his clothes refitted by Sheila, he’d been introduced to a tailor by John Randall. The tailor, who had been a high-end and very quietly conservative tailor on Beard’s Street in London, had found an evening suit for sale and refitted it for him to London Standards along with some suits.

Suits. He was a suit. When did that happen?

“Time to meet the parents,” Elisa said, taking his arm.

Jason glanced down the corridor and did a double take.

He’d spoken to John Randall over video, a business thing. So, he recognized the man in a well-fitted evening jacket.

John Randall didn’t have the “Richard Look” as Jason tended to call it, the standard square-jawed, tall, common look of US finance. Instead, he was a burly guy, shoulders like axe handles, medium height but with such a solid figure he seemed taller. Brown hair but glacial blue eyes. He looked like a guy you didn’t want to meet in an alleyway.

The young lady with him, though, was Elisa’s twin. Just as short, just as gorgeous, wearing a Little Black Dress that was a mirror of Elisa’s.

“Mom had to borrow my dress,” Elisa said, sighing. “And she looks better in it than I do.”

“Not a bit,” Jason sort-of lied. Sort of because there was no way to tell the difference.

“Mister Randall,” Jason said, shaking John’s hand.

“Jason,” Randall said. Firm grip. “I think John’s okay.”

“Just a tad . . . awkward,” Jason said, turning to Mary Randall. “This is not intended the way it is usually intended, but . . . ”

“We look like twins,” Mary said, giggling. “Did she tell you I had to borrow the dress?”

“Which looks . . . magnificent on you, madame,” Jason said. They’d even done the same hairstyle though Mary’s hairpiece was a horse, not a dragon.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Mary said, taking his other arm. “And if a little flirting gets me a trip to the tropics . . . ”

“I shall endeavor to provide,” Jason said uncomfortably.

“Stop trying to steal my boyfriend, Mother,” Elisa said warningly.

“More like Jason’s trying to steal my wife as well as my daughter,” John said, but he was grinning. “There’s greedy and there’s greedy, Jason.”

“Seriously,” Jason said. “We’ve got ships going up and down on a regular basis with plenty of deadhead for passengers. The point is if you and Mary want to go on a tropical vacation, that can be arranged. Most business can be conducted remote these days . . . ”

“We’re not spending time in the islands with my parents,” Elisa said. “That would be . . . there would be a major cramping of style.”

“We’re putting down additional harvest sites,” Jason said quickly. “On entirely different islands. If there was any money to be made in tourism . . . But it’s an open invitation. We have ships going back and forth. If you can remote the business for a week, please consider it.”

“As long as my mother’s not . . . flirting with my boyfriend,” Elisa said, rolling her eyes. “This is so weird!”

“Does anyone else find this all just incredibly strange?” Jason asked.

“Every moment of every day,” John said. “Every time I open my eyes. But then again, I open my eyes to you, dear.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” Mary said, switching arms and leaning in.

“Oh, God,” Elisa said, shaking her head. “You two have been like a couple of newlyweds. It’s . . . wrong.”

“We really should walk and talk,” Jason said. “I’m sort of responsible for this venture.”

“Edgar is in charge,” Elisa said. “You can be fashionably late. But we probably should go. I want to meet . . . her.”

“The ex,” Mary said, eyes lighting up.

Monica,” Elisa whispered, her eyes narrowing.

“Changing the subject as quickly as possible . . . I don’t have a subject change?”

“Elisa was quite hard to get ahold of down on the islands,” Mary said, looking at her daughter. “We usually talk every day, frequently. But Elisa said you were both busy loading lobster pots. I’ll load lobster pots for some time in the tropics. I’ve worked. But . . . were you . . . ? Loading lobster pots, that is?”

“So, changing the subject quickly,” Elisa said primly. “I . . . I don’t have a subject change.”

“I have been remiss,” Mary said as they boarded an elevator. “Thank you for the care package. Coconut land crab is amazing!”

“Isn’t it?” Elisa said. “Fun to catch, too. We also spent a lot of time catching land crab. I caught those with my own two hands! These hands!” she said, holding them up.

“I’m sure you were working very . . . hard, dear,” Mary said, her eyes sparkling. “Certainly very . . . active.”

“The island was really nice,” Jason said, trying not to sigh.

“She showed me drone photos of the waterfall . . . ” Mary said.

* * *

They made their way up the escalators, boarded the local slidewalk then took another cut to the express slidewalk. There they secured a four-set of alcove seats and settled in. They were taking a long run.

There were others on the slidewalk. Most leaned against the sides or stood out of the way but a guy walking down it stopped to examine the foursome.

“So . . . where’s the party?” he asked.

“Opening of an event space,” Jason said. “Over in Atlanta.”

“Events?” the guy asked. “Like concerts?”

“More like weddings, business occasions, that sort of thing,” Jason said.

“That’s cool . . . ” the guy said. “You look like you’re doing okay . . . ”

“We’re not as full of credit as you might think,” John said calmly.

“I’m not panhandling,” the guy said sharply. “That’s not my thing, sir. I was just wondering. You look like you’re doing business. If you know of any IT jobs . . . ?”

“Not really,” Jason said, shaking his head sadly. “The AIs have put a lot of people like that out of work. Sorry. You any good at the outdoors. Serious hunter?”

“Yeah, not that serious,” the guy said. “I mean, forget the bears, have you seen the . . . ” He stopped and pointed at Jason. “Oh, my God, do I recognize you?”

“Does it involve a crocodile, a rifle and a crazy man?” Elisa asked.

“You’re Crocodile Dude!” the guy said, laughing. “Oh, my God, can I just shake your hand? I can tell my friends I met Crocodile Dude! Quick selfie? Why were you using a Garand?”

“I like living on the edge,” Jason said.

“Let me take it,” John said, smiling.

A quick selfie and the guy waved and walked away. And immediately started texting.

“Crocodile Dude,” Elisa said archly. “My boyfriend is, in fact, the Real and Original Crocodile Dude.”

“That is going to haunt me the rest of my life,” Jason said, opening his mouth and shaking his head. “I’m big in Japan?”

“To what does Crocodile Dude allude, pray tell?” Mary said.

“You’re unaware that my boyfriend is the Real and Original Crocodile Dude?” Elisa said, archly. “A budding streaming influencer.”

“I think he’s a bit more than an internet influencer,” Mary said, chuckling. “Uncle Fritz is wondering if your boyfriend might consider a small contribution to his campaign.”

“Isn’t he more or less a shoo-in?” Elisa asked. “Assuming the Constitution and charter are ratified.”

“As flies are drawn to manure . . . ” John said.

“Uncle Fritz?” Jason asked.

“Fritz Ling,” John said. “Mary’s first cousin. Formerly a state senator in Carolina who is state senator designate for Carolina Quadrant Sixteen Lima, now Charleston Quadrant.”

“Oh,” Jason said. “Do people need political contributions?”

“Yes,” John said. “There’s no cost for yard signs, obviously. But other advertising has costs. Billboards mostly for now. He did ask if I could get you a two-minute pitch. This is my asking if you’ll take a two-minute pitch.”

“Politicians asking for money,” Jason said, shaking his head. “Money is a headache.”

“Let me be your aspirin,” Elisa said, patting his arm.

“That’s a thought,” Jason said, frowning. “Would you be in charge?”

“How?” Elisa asked.

“I’ll talk to Gil,” Jason said. “Jewel, make a note. If you’ve got money, you need to put it to certain things besides investing and personal. The two Ps are Philanthropy and Politics. I’ve never had that sort of money. Twenty-five dollars to some PAC or somebody who caught my eye on the news, sure. But not . . . direct contributions to a state senator. Okay, once, but I knew the guy and he lost. Why don’t you handle it?”

“Because it’s your money, Jason,” Elisa said.

“Yeah, but keeping up with the business side is taking all my time,” Jason said. “At least all the time I’m willing to devote. It’d be a paid gig. You could be my political and philanthropy consultant? I mean, you said you were planning on taking a political science degree.”

“So, you want me to be your bag girl?” Elisa asked.

“I don’t know how much a reasonable contribution might be,” Jason said. “That’s why I’m asking. For that matter . . . you mentioned your family has been around politics for a while . . . ”

“My side more than John’s,” Mary said. “She didn’t mention Senator Scott used to come over to the house?”

“Uncle Tim?” Jason said. “Yes, she mentioned it.”

“She used to sit on his lap when she was young,” Mary said, smiling.

“And he was not ever a creep,” Elisa said. “Don’t ask me about a few others.”

“He doesn’t come across as a creep,” Jason said. “He’s one of the very few politicians I’ve ever wanted to meet. If I’d known that, I’d have invited him to the dinner.”

“You two didn’t do much talking in the islands?” Mary asked.

“What part of working my fingers to the bone was unclear, Mother,” Elisa said then sniffed. “To. The. Bone.”

“We did talk quite a bit,” Jason said hurriedly. “You just can’t talk about everything even in two weeks.”

“And . . . I sort of skipped that part,” Elisa said, shrugging. “The sitting on his lap, not that I knew him. I was afraid it would make you uncomfortable.”

“Might have,” Jason admitted. “Still wish we’d invited him to tonight’s dinner.”

“There will be others,” John said. “And he’s not the type to take offense.”

“The point to all this being,” Jason said, “would you mind very much, darling, handling most of this? Yes, being the bag girl. I blew through most of the dividend doing investments but there’s some left. Ask Gil what’s appropriate for politics. And philanthropy.”

“Of course, darling,” Elisa said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I’d be glad to be your bag girl and lobbyist as well as philanthropy manager. It’ll give me a defined role, which would be nice.”

“You need to get paid, too,” Jason said.

“We’ll discuss it after I talk to Gil,” Elisa said. “But I just got the first contractor share for a bit less than two weeks in the islands. Holy cow, no wonder you’re making money! So, I can wait a bit on getting paid.”

“Getting back to Crocodile Dude?” Mary said.

“If you promise to not comment on the rifle, you can watch the video,” Jason said. “I’ve had enough comments on that.”

After watching the video, and laughing a good bit, John shook his head.

“I’d sort of heard about it,” he said. “Hadn’t watched the video. James said it was the largest thing you owned.”

“Yes,” Jason said. “Was. Still what I carry regularly when I go out.”

“It’s the Swiss Army knife of rounds,” John said. “That pretty much proves it.”

“I’ve told him that’s not okay anymore,” Elisa said. “No shooting dino-crocs from touching distance. No riding great white sharks. No petting megagrizzlies . . . ”

“What if they’re asleep in their den and I promise to be verrry quiet?” Jason asked.

“Are you really like that?” Mary asked.

“Little bit?” Jason said, holding up a couple of fingers. “I’d gotten out of it ’cause of how busted up I got in my twenties the last time. But . . . little bit?”

“Wildlands firefighter,” Elisa said, gripping his arm. “Rodeo clown.”

“Rodeo clown?” John said.

“You needed a job on the off-season from firefighting,” Jason said. “’Cause fighting wildfires wasn’t dangerous enough. And I figured how hard could it be . . . ? So, there I was sort of in a starfish position, pinwheeling through the air with this very enraged bull I could see was tracking my trajectory and waiting for me to get back in range of his horns . . . It’s one of those moments where time slows down, your life flashes in front of your eyes and you wonder how, exactly, you got yourself in this predicament . . . ”


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