Later that morning, Zeer sat on the rectory’s shaded veranda scanning the viddy tapes that his staff had recorded for him of the morning’s news flashes. They were filled with the story of the dedication. When he heard the second story, he suddenly jumped up with a holler.
His sudden movement startled Par. She jumped dislodging baby Zac who was trying to getting his breakfast. He howled until she refilled his face. In his mind, he heard a voice that sounded more like his mother's every day, “Have ya gone daft, Preacher man?”
He pushed the viddy over to where she could see the end of the story, “Just you looky here, Missus. The V.R. has gone and pulled the Fort Commandant's little tail again.”
“What is it..? I dinna fesh…”
He rewound the tape to show her the story that he had heard, “Ho, ho, I'll bet he'll never recover from this one.”
She resettled Zac on her other breast. She spoke firmly in the back of his mind, “That's still na reason to disturb the entire valley, ma good hoosband. Will ya turn up the sound then, or must I read her lips?”
“Sorry...”
The female reporter's voice came out of the machine. "We continue the story of Emeswan. It’s a little planet in Sector D-7-16.” The camera pans back to show that she is standing out in a desert space. There is a small terraplast fort just over her shoulder.
“Until about eight cycles ago, this was Maintenance Station #1. It was a stop for refueling and repairs for long haulers making the daily trek from Space Port City,” A map appears on the screen, “to the Quallium mines in Pergatory Canyon.” The colors on the map changed to show the road that a long hauler would need to follow to make that trip.
She continued. The picture changed to the stock photo of the Viceroy, “The Viceroy's Office of Farming and Homesteading has authorized a civil committee of local settlers to be formed. This committee has a commission that will now fall under a plan of the OFH to create private farms under a newly as yet unformed civil government."
Paris got up quietly and laid the boy next his brother, “Farms...”
“Listen!”
Now the image of the VR was replaced by the face of the Press Secretary for OFH. He was reading, “The Viceroy is tired of importing food to this sector. He is offering farm implements and water to anyone willing to set up farms in the valley surrounding that mine.”
“She dinna say FORT…”
“Hesh a hesh!”
“The miners that accept this offer will be released from the time remaining on their mining contracts in exchange for new farming contracts. They will be paid in full for services accrued plus a personal bonus offered by the Empra.”
“What does it mean, Preacher man?”
“Just keep listening.”
“This plan, fully authorized by the Empra and the Regional Governor, his brother, the Viceroy, calls for a partition of the farmable land in any of the canyons inside the newly formed parish of Emeswan. These new farmers can have a homestead, tools, and supplies if they agree to stay for at least five years and actively farm during that period. The miners of each mine will be given first choice in their own areas of the parish.”
“Why them?”
“Me darlin', it's just good business to save the shipping cost for the Imperion. They won't hafta be haulin' them home or bringin' new farmers in. Also, these people already are accustomed to the conditions on Tarra and would be better candidates to stay for the five years of their new contracts.”
“But...they are miners...”
"They weren’t miners before they got here. They had all kinds of skills. Look at Zopha. She was a teacher. Talia tells me that the mine is nearly played out, anyway. The Q that they are pulling out is less and less rich in Quallite. If the mine quits before the contracts are up, they’d have to pay to get themselves home. The best thing of this, Paris, is that these people will have something to own when they're done.”
Zeer felt the tingle in the back of his mind that he never quite got used to. His dad had returned from one of his adventures, “Aye, laddie buck, by pulling each other's tails these Froggers may accidently do something right, yet.”
“Aye, Dad, that they may.”
“Quick, lover boy, switch that thing to the local news.”
Quickly, Zeer changed to a live channel. The local reports showed the Fort Commandant's office. They laughed as they watched. He was swamped with people wanting to become farmers.
Many of them had been farmers or children of farmers in their native worlds. They had tried for the fast credits they could earn in mining. Many of the younger farm children had no land of their own. Mining had been their chance to get enough credits to buy a farm. Here was their chance to get out with their lives and get that farm they had been hoping for.
Two of Tristan's planner boys had showed up on the morning mail shuttle. They immediately set to work. Zeer watched them for the rest of the day on the viddy cast as plot lines were laid out. People were pouring out of the fort to claim these lands. Some of the families were claiming farms that they would work in the day time while one or more of them were staying on to work in the mines.
Many of the miners were laid off right then, any way, because of the cave in. Until the engineers recertified the mine as safe, the new settlers this time to build their homes and set up their farms.
Tristan returned on the third day. By the fourth day, she had built herself a three story building with OFH offices on the first floor and air conditioned living spaces above. People lined up, picked the type of abode they preferred from her catalog. By the seventh day, she had hired the laid off workers to begin prefabbing these homes. With her building system, the inside wiring and plumbing were done the first day and the outside of the house was done on the next day. The sound of pounding and whooshing terraplast blowers went day and night.
Zeer awoke early on the fourteenth morning and went up to the wall. He had not looked outside for a day and a half because of dust storms caused by the continuous construction. As was his custom now, he sneaked through the secret hallway under the wall, through some passageways known only to the Paronese Cat Society (which conveniently was directly inside the wall from the Cathedral) and went along inner stairways. This way, he could wend his way to his favorite spot for Morgen Tide call o Mornin songs without the constant chatter that disturbed him as he was readying himself for this service.
He was accompanied by his usual retinue of Guardians. They knew him well enough by now to hold them selves physically and mentally still so their father could prepare himself in silence. Unbeknownst to him, they were blocking all mental speech from his area. Even Zac could not penetrate this wall, although he tried. Mostly he tried because they told him he could not. He took that as a challenge. Any accomplished adult Par Cat can carry on several conversations at once with out the other parties knowing. These Guardians were chosen for these abilities and schooled to enhance their abilities.
He arrived unannounced to his spot, handed his blue over cloak to the nearest Guardian. Then, he spread his white cloaked wings, catching the new born rays for the Fire Eagle Song. The service was over before he noticed that the dust cloud was nearly gone. He turned to look at the construction. He was stunned by the sudden appearance of a town and hundreds of farm houses stretching to the canyon walls in the far distance. Then, he saw what had stirred up the dust.
Sheel’s engineers had dug miles of irrigation ditches that soon would flow with water from the tiny river that had created this canyon so long ago. There was a dam and a slowly filling lake. It would be months before there was enough water to fill the ditches all the way to the edges of the parish.
Sheel walked up, “Padre, aint my sister sumpthin’?”
“Aye, Lass, she’s a wonder.”
“And look over thar. In less than two days, her boys and girls sunk us a deep well and built a derrick ta run it. Where in blue blazes, she got plasteel way out here, I don’t even know.”
“I stand in awe.” They stood a moment t
o watch the rig pumping up and down, bringing up deep ground water and pouring thousands of hectares of water into the lake.
“Yeah, and she built us a purty little water tower right over there. Hits a fillin’ up right now, so’s there’ll be water in the lines that have been run to all them purty little houses all over town.”
“Fantastic…:
“And there’s our little school house… and now we got a proper little downtown for store front establishments to flourish.”
“Grand, simply grand…”
“Well, the OFH knows people need stuff, so they’re including mercantile contracts… yeah, they call em mercantile homesteads and they work the same as the farmers.”
“So, my wife’s friend Zopha could teach now as her contractual payment.”
“Right ya are, Padre. Farmer’s got kids and kids need schools.”
“And last, she made another entrance to the mine.”
Zeer chuckled, “Oh, really.”
“I think, then, that the ones who still are gonna mine will technically be ‘under’ the fort instead of in it…By living outside of the fort, and using the outside entrance to the mine, they bypass the authority of the old major.”
Zeer caught on, “Ohhhh… they can’t be counted as a member of the fort community for tax purposes.”
“Yep, his little economic corner of the world is being cut off at the knees.”
Zeer spent the next week helping his flock move out to their homesteads. It was immediately apparent that the Viceroy's scheme was working. The old Commandant's staff worked from dawn until dusk filing the transfer papers to make the personnel changes. People felt that living in rock huts and tents for free was better than living in shanty hovels for high rents they had been paying to the Commandant. But Tristan’s industrious little crews had made that a mute point. Many of them had beautiful little homes to move to and more were being built every day.
As the people moved outside of the walls, so did the bazaar. Publicly, the shop owners said, “business is business...” Privately, they laughed about the money they would gain from not paying the commandant's taxes. Mostly, they figured it would just be stupid not to take the VR’s mercantile homesteads. As usual, the commandant was so drunk that he didn't notice that, within a two-week period, his income, which he couldn't spend anyway, had dropped by ninety per cent. Nobody came to pay their share, but, he didn't notice. His own Guardians left him to his drink. They just laughed as he fiddled while the fort burned, so to speak.
The population of the fort had dropped quickly. In less than a moon cycle, it was down to under ten thousand souls. Most of the miners who remained were planning to leave, they just hadn't gotten their release papers yet. What the commandant would have seen, had he bothered to look, was that the empty plain around the fort was becoming a bustling city.
Tristan kept working. Her little OFH factory hired many of the laid off miners. They worked day and night to create pre-molded walls and ceilings. Soon, there were stacks of them drying in the fields outside of the fort. As a family moved out to claim a homestead, a small flyer came out to their place to drop off a set of these parts. Their new neighbors would gather around to click together with a few bolts and a plumbing crew came in to hook up to the rapidly spreading water system.
The Cathedral complex was also taking shape. The first building built was the Non-commissioned Guardian barracks and mess unit. It was built on the Sun Rise side right next to the Cathedral. On the other end of the Cathedral complex was a garage and the office complex where Sheel now lived with a few officers. The fourth side was closed in by the landing pad that Tristan had built for the Viceroy. These buildings formed a parade ground and a smaller defendable perimeter.
Streets began to take shape as business owners claimed the plots laid out by Sheel’s engineers. Soon a web of streets formed going out in every direction away from the new complex.
Unannounced, a Guardian burst into the Commandant's office. He shouted, “The Viceroy's flier has just arrived!”
The commandant roused himself, “Wh what? Oh, yes...” He rose and ran from his office. He and his cordon of Guardians hurried to meet him at the landing pad just outside the gate.
The V.R. laughed as he watched him stagger toward the ship. Dust blew around him as he ran. He nudged the Vicate, “He looks bad... His uniform looks as if he has slept in it every night since we left.”
The Holy Vicate smiled a secret smile of joy, “Yes... yes... He does seem ill.” He thought to himself, “If he isn’t ill, this news will surely kill him.”
The Viceroy had his own thoughts, “It will be a pleasure to break this man as an example to his other officers. In this climate, we fair native citizens of the Imperion need to oil our skin regularly to keep it from cracking and peeling. This man is a disgrace. He does none of these things to keep up the appearances that the Imperion requires of a senior officer. And he wants a Rear Admiral’s star. I think not!”
The Father Visitor was looking forward to watching his cousin being broken. He sat pondering this pleasure as they waited for the man's arrival.
Zeer and Paris showed up first. They noticed that two extra chairs had been placed next to the Royals. The VR waved to them grandly, “Ahhh, Fazzer Tafwick, Madame Sheppardess please have a seat.” In a moment, they were sitting in soft chairs between to the two men, watching the security viddy and reading the priest's mind as the Vicate said to himself what he dared not say out loud.
“Since our guppy days, my dear cousin and I have competed. Now, it is finally my turn to watch you shrivel. You were always so lucky. During the last war, you make one lucky shot, save one stupid Admiral's life. Only dumb luck could have made that Admiral be the next Crown Prince of the Imperion. That lucky shot wins you this back water fort for your own. Then, oh, by the Master’s beard, THEN, they find Quallium right under your drunken nose.
Our Grampapa hooted about it so much, I joined the priesthood just to get away from the noise. And to add insult to injury, that very Admiral has now made enough slush money to buy his way to the head of the heir’s line. But, he’s tired of you now, so, it is my turn to watch you fry.”
It was all Zeer could do to laugh, listening secretly to this tirade. A small female brought them a cool, sweet drink. He bowed and took one glas, Paris bowed and took the other, “Thankee, daughter.” She bowed and left without a word.
The Vicate continued, assuming that he was alone inside of his own head, “Yes, this moment coming will be the ultimate butt burner. This insignificant fort that you are assigned to becomes the richest treasure in the Imperion. Boy, did I get letters from home on that one. For years, I have plotted for this day.
My own years of service to the Imperion and to the Master have gone unnoticed by my own parents. From backwater parishes to larger and larger churches I climbed the vines of church politics. No one in my home pond even noticed when I donned the scarlet cap. I received only a tiny note from my mother when the Father Visitor white cloak and shield were added.”
“Now, with this cave-in and the new cathedral, I shall be the family hero and you will finally be the slug form that you always deserved to be.”
“I think someone needs to deal just a little better with their anger issues, Paris.”
Paris coughed into her drink. She covered her laughter with this bout of coughing as she sank one of her sets of claws into Zeer’s thigh. He delicately removed her hand while trying to act nonchalant.
The Commandant shuffled aboard the plush craft. The doors were sealed quickly against the scorching heat. “Your Majezzty...” he bent on a knee and kissed the preferred ring of the Viceroy, ignoring his cousin.
“You are a disgusting mess, Commandant. Why have you come into our gracious presence looking this way?”
The commandant sweated even more in the cooled air. His lips quivered. “I have been working day and night to hunt pirates, repair the damages to the mine and to return it to full production, Your Majesty.??
?
The V.R. looked absently out of the window. “A nice town is developing around my Cathedral, eh, Your Grace?”
Ignoring the little man grovelling before them, the Father Visitor made quite a production of looking the town over as the Commandant sweated and waited. “Yes, Your Majesty, a lovely town it will be.”
The VR turned his gaze viciously back to the Commandant, “And you, you TOAD, where is this months quota?”
“We are digging as fast az we can, your Majesty. The miners are all gone. Your home steaders won't mine any more.”
"MY home steaders? Are you implying that I am to blame for your total incompetence? These brave pioneers are my brother, your Empra's home steaders, are they not?”
The Commandant bent and touched his head on the floor, “Excuse me, your Majesty”
“Excuses, alwaysz excuses. Parenz.”
A tall, yellow haired Par Cat Admiral stepped forward and snapped to attention. “Your Majesty?”
“This toad tires me.” He gave her a file, “Read this to him.”
“As you wish, Sire.” the Parcat opened the file and began to read, “You are accused of letting this establishment drop in population below the limit allowed by regulations to call itself a fort. It is the finding of the Crown the there is only one explanation, your gross mismanagement. The Imperion cannot support you any longer. The Crown has decided to return this establishment to a maintainance station for the new Parish of Emeswan in the Pergatory District. This decision is final.”
The Commandant turned to the Viceroy, “But, but, that means...”
The VR stood and shouted at the Commandant, “Shut up, Toad! No one gave you permission to speak...”
The Par Cat Admiral grew stern, “That is right, Sailor, you are now given two choices...”
“T- two choices, Sir?”
“As of today, this fort is decommissioned to a mining station. The position of Commandant is therefore no longer required here. There are no open postings off world at this time for a Commandant. If you are to remain in the Legion, you are to accept being dropped in grade to Centurion Major.”
He gulped visibly, “Major...I’m to be a Major?”
The general went on, “Or, you can retire from the Emperion Legion. Of course, that’s the end of yer pension.”
“Why would I lose my pension?”
“You wont have filled your last contract. All of your stored funds would be forfeit to the Crown by rote and title.”
The little Frog nearly fainted. He caught himself and turned to his cousin for aid. “Zala..? Oh, No.” He shrank before the hatred that he saw there in the little black, shiney eyes of his cousin.
Zeer heard him clearly thinking to himself, “What did I ever do to him?” He dared say nothing more. “At least,” he thought to himself, “I am still in charge. What little bit of skimming can be done, I will still be doing. Only four more cycles and I will be honorably retired. I can wait that long.”
The VR waved at the Admiral, “Go on, Parens...read hiz mismanagements.”
The major stood ramrod stiff, sweat pouring down his face and dripping onto is stained tunic as the General read out loud all of his monthly reports for the last two cycles. The Viceroy and the Father Visitor openly discussed his various mismanagements as they ate their lunch in front of him.
Zeer just sat, ate, and watched. After all, it was the ‘entitlement” of Emerand in which this man gained his glory. The Major was not allowed to defend himself in any way. After several hours, he was dismissed.
The general walked him out to the sunlight. She made him stand saluting as she read some papers that a lieutenant had brought to her. Finally, she looked at the Major, “Be thankful that you are still in command at all. Also, be thankful that, now that the mine is nearly empty, we have no one willing to take this post or you would be out on your slimey green keester...”
“Yez, Sir...Thank you, Sir.”
“New miners are arriving tomorrow. See that they are put to work immediately. Talli...”
Her aide was standing close. She ran up, saluting, “Yes, Sir...
“Tell Mister Zzarrat to come over.”
The girl ran off. She returned with the man that Tristan had left behind to set up the new city. He was out of breath from running. "General, you called..." he panted.
“Zzarrat, we like you. The VR wants to make you his Civil Administrator over the mine and the town.”
Zzarrat was good. One quick look at the old Commandant told it all. He had been sacked and Zzarrat's ship had just come in. His heart had nearly stopped at the opportunity for wealth untold. He had heard rumors about the amount of Q this Frog had sneaked off planet.
He managed not to throw himself to his knees. He bowed and replied, “I am your humble servant, Sir… Ma’am…” He kept is head down because he could not keep from smiling.
“Now, our first request, Sir.”
More composed, Zzarrat looked at his benefactor, “Anything, General. You have but to command.”
“I want those planners and builders to have those new apartment buildings ready by tomorrow for the new miners. They will be arriving around noon… People living in box hovels is a disgrace.”
He mentally clicked off the amount of panels he had seen in the builder’s fields, “It will be completed by this sundown, Madame.” He added to himself, “if I have to kill them all to achieve it.”
“No killing. We need everybody healthy right now for mining and farming.”
“Got it!”
“Go!” The man ran off in the direction of the builders.
The Viceroy watched the meeting through spy cameras watching the two still standing on his landing. When they heard Zzarat's answer, he He nudged the Vicate, “Zee what a true leader can do. Results… that is what we need around here.”
Zeer sat in the cooled room with the VR and watched the interplay. He could not help but feel sorry for the major. He and Paris had also been listening in to the inner conversations going on in and around the flier.
Zac burst in, “Feel sorry for him! Ya canna be sane. This is what they all deserve for what they done ta our homes and our families.”
Par just looked at Zeer. She reached over and squeezed his hand. Arguing with Zac was of no use. They knew this and had given up trying.
"You two love birds make me sick. I'm goin' off ta haunt the pleasure dome. At least I kin get a rise outa some one over there."
"Evenin', Dad."
"Taroo, ya old goat." said Paris, but, he was already gone.
"Fazzer...are we done?"
"Your Majesty... as you wish." He bowed.
They both bowed and went back out into the heat, “Ahhh, the clean desert smells.”
“Aye, Preacher Man, hot but clean.”
Back in the shade of his veranda, he sat at the table and began looking over some maps. She sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder, “Maps? Again with the maps… Where you going?”
“My rounds of the outer flocks. I canna put it off any longer, lassie.”
“I know... if ya must...”
“Aye!”
“I dinna hafta like it. And, you, mister, keepa your hands offa that Guardian!”
Zeer shook his head at her while they watched the broken major stagger back to his rooms. The flier carrying the two Royals took off with a whoosh. Zzarrat stood on a pile of prefab housing and watched it go. They passed him on their way back home, “We'll hafta watch that'n, Preacher man.”
“Aye, me darlin', that we will.”
“Supper!” The Rectoress called, startling them both. She was a plump little Par Cat nanny. Her husband had been killed in the cave in. She had been left penniless. She had never had any kits of her own, so now, all that stored affection she gave to the Sheppard and his family.
“Evenin', Nan.” he mind-spoke to her in respect.
“Evening...Vespers has been read... I figgered with you out there tied up busy with His Holy Frogness the
m acolytes needed the practice. Both suns are down. Where have ye been?”
Zeer laughed and kissed the top of her head as he passed. He thought to her, “Thee are special, Nanna. Let's eat.”
She purred at his praise. She knew that he was special, too. As the first non-cat mental speecher, just being near him made her job all the better. “Thee are a silver tongued Divil, ye are...” she thought back as she served them.
After supper, they went to see the boys. Zeer helped the women bathe each one. Once they were dried and dressed, he sat on the couch and held them. “I miss them already.”
Paris sat down and began nursing Shannie, “Fine. Then do not go.”
“Paris, dinna start wi' me.”
“Humphhh.” They had worked out a system. He held the one that wasn't feeding. Together, they sang soft, hissy Parcat lullabies to them until they were full of their mother's milk and had drifted off to sleep. Hand in hand, they went to bed. Their bodies slept, but their minds melted together in dreams and stories and love.
Chapter 11