The Legacy of Heorot Read Free

furrowed earth. Other crews had burnt the ground, spitting jellied fuel from backpack flame-throwers to clear the soil of underbrush without glazing it into slag. The charred dirt had long since been plowed under to prepare for seeding. The ground was very fertile, needing only minor nitrate supplementation to provide a healthy medium for their crops.
    In the distance one of the farmers slowed his tractor to wave to them, and Ernst lifted two samlon in triumphant greeting. Further ahead Cadmann knew that there were colts and calves, still far too young to manage the plows that would be fashioned for them. It was an unusual combination—a meld of high technology and muscle-intensive agriculture. In an emergency, the Colony could fall back on the most ancient and reliable means of production.
    There were rows of wheat and spinach and soybeans, and in the mist-filtered glare of Tau Ceti their leaves and stalks glistened healthily. At the base of the rows ran the irrigation ditches, fed by the stream that passed under the low bridge just ahead, flowing past the camp and over the edge of the bluff to join the Miskatonic River.
    The sounds of the main camp drifted to them. The hum of light machinery, the crackle of laughter and the whining burr of saws and lathes working wood and metal.
    The animal pens were on the outskirts of the main camp. Dogs and pigs had their own pens, the horses a well-fenced running space. The chickens were cooped near the machine shop, closer in to the main compound.
    Cadmann stopped to examine the wire surrounding the pens. His face taughtened into a frown. Their "hot wire" wasn't even warm; the power had been switched off months before. The barbed wire beyond that was down in three places that he could see. He scraped at a brownish patch of rust with his thumbnail.
    "Let it go," Sylvia chided.
    "Look at this." His voice was flat with disgust. "The strands are slack, and the power line is broken. Doesn't anybody give a damn anymore? We haven't been here long enough to get this lazy."
    "Cad—" Sylvia's pale slender fingers covered his, prying them away from the strand. She gripped his hand tightly.
    "Look, I know I keep getting outvoted, and I can live with that." He was mortified to hear the petulance creeping into his voice, to see the maternal concern softening her eyes. "Listen. You keep telling me that there are things about this island that bother you. We've only got one shot at this. Nobody's going home, and no one's sending any reinforcements. It only makes sense to be a little paranoid. That's why we picked an island, isn't it? To localize the dangers?"
    She squeezed his arm. "I can't change your mind, so I'll try not to want to. Listen. Why make a big thing about it? Why not just fix the fence yourself?"
    "Sounds good."
    "Good. I'll send for you when we're ready for the barbecue."
    Just before they took the last turn into town, Cadmann looked back at the farmers and felt a brief pang of jealousy. They, in wresting victory from the soil, were the true hunters, the true warriors. Ultimately their efforts would determine the future of the fledgling community.
    The sun was warm, but far warmer was Sylvia's hand against his arm.
    The community had grown in a strangely organic manner; the first crewmembers to build their individual prefab huts had built them close together within the defensive perimeter.
    Perimeters. Three rings. Electric fence, minefield, barbed wire. It made sense at the time.
    Cadmann's folly.
    And one of these days they'll make me go dig up the mines. No enemies.
    No dangers. Nothing. And all that fucking work to build fences.
    Most of the colonists had only been awake for eight months, and already they were beginning to get sloppy.
    As they had been awakened and shuttled down, the camp expanded, filling the defensive compound, then spreading outside it. From above, the Colony looked like a spiral nebula or a conch shell sliced sideways. Cadmann's home was at the center.
    The