The Legacy of Heorot Read Free Page A

colonists outside the fence had more room, larger lots—but their location showed their status. Colonists. They were not among the First Ones. Everyone on Avalon was equal, but some were more equal than others. The First Ones had landed four months earlier and had social status—at least those who hadn't wasted time and effort building needless fences and mine fields had status.
    The muffled whirr of a power saw grew louder, and the dry smell of sawdust more distinct, as Cadmann wove his way through the narrow streets that divided off the flat-roofed houses and foam-sprayed prestructured domes. Some of the domes had been left in their original tan. Others were painted, some with a kaleidoscope of colors. Here and there were strikingly realistic murals. We have a lot of talent here. All kinds. Speaking of which—The saw changed pitch as Carlos Martinez spotted Cadmann and lifted a hand in greeting.
    Carlos's dark, lean body glistened with perspiration as he glided the saw over the planks. The thorn trees at the perimeter of the clearing provided a generous supply of wood, but it was knotty and coarsely grained. Only a master craftsman like Carlos could have made anything but firewood of it, and the carpenter was deliciously aware of his valued position.
    Half the Colony's dwellings had a table or bed frame by Carlos. It was doubtful that he would ever have to take his rotation in the field to earn his share of the crop.
    "Cadmann! Mi amigo." Carlos wiped his brow and extended a sweaty palm that Cadmann shook firmly. Carlos was a true mongrel, and gloried in it. Originally from Argentina, his bloodline was predominately black, his cultural leanings anyone's guess. His Spanish was atrocious, but he interjected it into his conversation regardless. "I heard that you had gone off with the lovely Senorita Faulkner."
    "Senora," Cadmann corrected. He moved in for a closer look at the woodwork on the bench. It was the beginnings of a headboard for Carlos's bed, and already penciled on it were mermaids cavorting in improbable couplings with virile mermen and grinning sailors. He sighed.
    "Senora." Carlos smiled mischievously. "It is true that sometimes I forget."
    "It'll get easier to remember." He patted his stomach. "She's got a passenger on board now."
    Carlos raised his eyebrows in lecherous speculation. "She is taking on good flesh, no? My people, we appreciate a—" he screwed up his mouth in a dramatic search for the right word—"a substantial woman."
    "Substantial."
    "Si! A helpmate in the fields, a comfort by the fireside. Ah, the days of old..."
    "Cut the crap," Cadmann said without heat. "Your family never got closer to the fields than the handle of a whip. They've had silk on their backs and diplomas in their pockets for six generations. At least." He turned and worked the latch of his own foam-frame igloo.
    Behind him Carlos sighed. "With men like you, who can wonder that romance is dying in the world?" The rest of his monologue was drowned out as the saw revved up again.
    Cadmann groped out to find the curtain cord and drew it to let in a spray of sunshine. It might be a month before Tau Ceti Four saw such a bright day again, and he was loath to waste it. The sun was already low in the sky. Preparations for the barbecue would begin when twilight fell. The colonists who were working the day shift would put aside their farming and building and repair work and gather on the beach for good food and good fellowship.
    He wanted to grab his toolbox and go out to the fence, but his solitary bed, nestled beneath a sheltering bough of drip-dried underwear, called to him in a voice that his suddenly heavy muscles couldn't ignore.
    I'll just sit for a moment, he told himself. The water mattress sloshed pleasantly under his buttocks as he settled his weight into it. He rarely noticed until he was tired, but Avalon's gravity put an extra ten pounds on him every second of his life.
    The waning sunlight cast deep shadows in the room,