Did the first time I saw her, and she did the last time I saw her. Fechtner was a Breeder. She was the daughter of one of Maldeen's most important Rounds. The first I saw her, I was gathering shit. It was early in the year; only one sun stood proud in the sky. We had a full quarter-revolution before the Red Giant would begin to rise above the horizon, and a full half revolution before it would burn day and night down upon us. Her hair was the shade of the primary sun and eyes the color of the Great Sea. Her long dress was the dark of fertile soil. She stood upon the gray rocks, playing her fiddle. I looked around the area that day, but could see no one for whom she played. All I saw were the fields and the bosontu. And Fechtner, her I saw, too. She played her fiddle barefoot.
I lowered the handles of my load that day. And stored my shovel in the wagon. I was a power-man. I kept the biomass gas turbines filled with the methane produced from bosontu droppings. It's back breaking work. The kind of work left to the Mutants. I was not just any power-man. I maintained the biomass turbines on the Beacon, that hyper-tachyon carrier wave sending out its silent voice into the night, telling our cousins on Earth that we are here, on Maldeen.
The Captain had laid the cornerstone of the Beacon in the first year of settlement. The Beacon had been started before the Captain had slowly turned into a Round, before the first Mutant had been born, and before the first summer firestorm had swept across the planet. Because of this the Beacon is a grander place than many built on Maldeen. It was built when the Captain still had hope. The Beacon was placed on the beach by the Great Sea. It was a pillar between the city and the thick, impassable woods of the shoreline.
* * * * *
I trundled along the streets of Maldeen. I had left the Beacon to its work. The display panel was Green, telling me I had nothing to fear. It was Red that I feared. Red on the panel and Red in the sky. I was in Maldeen for the spring festival and meeting.
Spring was here on the planet. Crops were to be planted and the cold, dark nights of winter had ended as the planet orbited back into the lumisphere of the second sun. It had only begun to rise into the sky. Bosontu and the other few mammals were coming into heat. Humans were no different. What was different was that chance or choice had little to do with the selection process for the human mammals. No, the council would make the selection, based on who they hoped would bred another Breeder. I was a Mutant and not chosen to take part.
I strained my ears to hear as I stood far back in the Mutant circles surrounding the Great Hall and the spring meeting taking place. With a helping hand from her son, Tobin, Ginjher rose to speak. Ginjher was a woman back when she was a Breeder. Now she was just a Round, spouting oratory about the justness of Laws and the sanctity of a Constitution no one has read since it was locked away safely in the Great Hall. No longer able to walk into the hall, she sits upon the marble steps. Ginjher rose to speak and declared the couplings for this spring. Carefully, I listened, knowing no Mutant's name would be spoken.
The crowd parted. Fechtner strode away from the meeting. Her comely face strained into a grimace. I knew then what my ears could not inform me. Fechtner had been chosen to breed this year. She was to be a mother, for Ginjher had spoken. Fechtner had been selected for Tobin.
* * * * *
It was night. The second sun only filled a sliver of the horizon. I drew back my dark cloak to allow the sunlight to bathe my pale skin without burning. I took off my shaded glasses to allow my eyes to see unfiltered. No beauty met my tired, weak eyes. I looked down the narrow alleys of Maldeen only to gaze upon horror.
I saw Tobin and two of his cronies. The two stood behind him. They passed a wineskin between them. Tobin did not stand alone. He stood with Fechtner. Fechtner was dressed as black a night without the second sun. And the brightest of winter stars gleamed in the jewelry at her earlobes. Tobin reached out his hand, still five-fingered, to grab her arm.
I knew this was wrong. I knew this, but what was a Mutant to do? The Rounds had chosen Fechtner for Tobin. What right did I have interfering in the decisions laid down by Law before the Great Hall? What choice did Fechtner have? If we, late of humanity and of Earth, were to survive on Maldeen? If we were to await the ships of Earth, what choice did we have?
Grrr Arrgh! my voice cried out as I charged Tobin and his friends. I struck him in the face with my shovel. The others tried to grab at my oily clothes. I kicked one and drive the handle of my shovel into the belly of the other. Tobin lay on the ground, holding his hand -- the same hand that had grabbed Fechtner -- to his bleeding mouth. I swung my weapon about to strike again and again and again. I was prepared to strike until they struck me dead. Tobin scrambled to his feet and ran off. The others followed. I held out my hand to Fechtner.
It was morning as I rose and cracked my bones back into place. Silently, I mouthed an “excuse me” at the noise. Fechtner paid no mind. We were in Murten's stable, where I usually sleep when I am in Maldeen.
Fechtner stood, letting her horse blanket fall from her shoulders. Her dress was torn from where Tobin grabbed her and one of her two eyes was swollen and bruised. She straightened her shoulders and fixed her clothing about her, pulling at the skirt to make it fall right and brushing the hay from it. Not until she had completed primping, did she turn toward me and smile.
I limped over to the half-door of Murten's stable. I slowly opened it and glanced out into the harsh daylight. I feared to see a patrol, but none met my eye. We needed to get Fechtner out of Maldeen and to do it soon. I motioned toward my wagon of shit for the biomass turbines. Fechtner smiled again. She wrapped the blanket about her head and strode toward my cart.
Fechtner lay down on the wooden planks, a reed stuck in her nose and placed secretly into the knots in the wood. My large ears could pick out the susurrus sound of her breath. I lay an oilskin on top of her, then began to shovel the bosontu waste on top of her. She coughed loudly as the stench struck her nose. I lifted the weight of my load into my hands and began to pull my wagon to the beacon -- and out of Maldeen.
The primary hung bright in the sky and I bundled my dark covering about me. I shielded my eyes from the sun. My calloused hands gripped the wooden handles of my wagon. I had a delivery to perform. Remember I was the power-man for the Beacon.
I approached the city gates. The guards looked me over with distaste as I neared. I scratched out a message on my board. I told them I had come for the fair and now had to power the beacon. They ignored me. I was just a shit shoveler. Even if I did that shoveling to serve the Beacon.
So Fechtner left Maldeen.
* * * * *
Tobin and the other guards stood by the city gates. They tossed dice, barely giving the passersby a glance. Holding out his hand, Tobin stopped me. He let a Round pass before a Mutant. I looked up to met his face. Did he know that it was my shovel that broke his nose and ruined his pretty, Breeder's face? Tobin did not return my glance; I was but a Mutant. I set my hunchback shoulders and pulled my wagon and its treasures out of Maldeen. I planted my feet upon the path toward the cliffs and the woods.
I reached the foot of the Beacon tower. It was set on a cliff overlooking the turquoise Great Sea. Purple land-algae clung to the rock face. The Beacon was sending out its message in binary tones. It is always sending out its message. Often have I wondered what it tells the stars. I was just a power-man. I had not heard the message. Did it speak the truth electronically into the great night? Did it relay the truth about we poor sons and daughters of the Earth? The truth - that we are either born Mutants or become Rounds when the swelling starts.
I did not stop at the Beacon but pointed my wagon toward the woods that rest beyond even the tower. As I pulled up my wagon of treasure through the woods, I heard the adagio beat of the strings.
Fechtner stood on the gray rocks playing her fiddle. All the children crowded around her. I placed my bundle upon the ground. As Fechtner's beat grew faster, I slowly unrolled the old, stained linings. I unrolled and unrolled until one of the children lay smiling upon the ground. The child blinked its red eyes at me. This child was born secretly in the Mutant quarters. As had all of Fechtner's other wards.
I limped back to my wagon for I had work to do; I powered the Beacon.
And Fechtner, she played her fiddle barefoot.
END
G.C. Dillon is a computer programmer and aspiring writer. He currently lives and works in Connecticut.
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