Holding Up The Sky - Thuban

(Two)

30, December, 2064

The house at Ridge Farm was unusually quiet. Half of the gang was away in Boston. It was the closing night of the Nutcracker. Kylen's younger sister, Eithne, had received wonderful reviews and family who had missed the opening were to be there for closing night. Dad, Emrys and Bridee were going to stay over at Christian's. She would have to help Ewan and Allston with the morning milking. Tomorrow half of the family would be back for New Year's Eve.

Kylen was uncharacteristically rushing through her shower. She had, since her rescue, taken her time, savoring each possible moment in the warmth and humidity. Each step of the procedure was slow and deliberate - the choices of the towel and the music - the selection of the scent were major concerns. Everything was evenly paced and measured. It had become a pleasure, a performance piece and a ritual. It was her own time. Alone. Singular. It meant so much more than personal grooming - more than a private pleasure - more than her hobby: It was her vocation.

But in the last few days Kylen had changed the entire way she bathed and showered. She had received an official looking e-mail from The Fleet. Barring the unforeseen - she would receive a transmission from the Saratoga by vid/phone sometime between December 24th and January 2nd. It was a Christmas present for the troops and their families. Consequently, for the last few days, Kylen had lived tethered psychologically and physically to an area no more that one hundred feet from the phone. It was beginning to make her crazy. The family was getting tired of staying off of the phone. Kylen was getting tired of jumping up each time the damn thing rang. She was getting tired of being disappointed. And she was sick and tired of the rather smug tone of voice that Nathan's mother used when she called every day to check in to see if the call had come. Nathan had spoken with his parents on December 26th.

Kylen had no idea how Nathan could have wrangled two of the coveted time slots, but she had accepted the communiqué at face value - in faith. Then the days had gone by with no communication. With every day of silence her anxiety level rose. Kylen was aware that she was becoming very poor company - snapping and short tempered. Often she wished that she was already working for Intelligence, that way she would know or, at least, could perhaps know if the delay was due to action - Nathan being in danger. But then again it was equally possible that it was just the delay to be expected when five thousand people are waiting to use the phones. After her liberation, on board The Nightingale, she had stood impatiently in those lines waiting for her turn. It had been incredibly frustrating and there had only been forty survivors jockeying for position. Kylen had a sudden thought: "This has got to be a real mess for Saratoga's Intelligence officers to deal with. How many calls did each person have to monitor? What were the buzzwords they are looking for? How long do they have to stay on duty before rotated for a rest? What a boring and uncomfortable assignment. What a headache. What a nightmare." Kylen was beginning to unconsciously take on the thought process of her new job.

The whole ordeal of waiting was made Kylen fidgety and nervous. She tried to emulate her mother. Always seemingly calm and in control - never a psychological feather out of place. Or so it had seemed to her children.

What Kylen found interesting was the fact that of all the sisters, Bridee, who had been only three when their mother had died, appeared to have inherited this unflappable demeanor. "I wonder if Mom used to cry in the shower? I wonder what she said to Dad in the dark?" Kylen vowed to spend more time with Bridee - to see how and what she thought.

Kylen realized that she was thinking of other things to avoid thinking about speaking with Nathan. Three times already she had made out lists of things to say and had torn them up in frustration and disgust. "On one hand there was just too much to say to fit into five minutes - even if I talk non-stop - only pausing to take in a breath. Then again the most important things - the things I've wanted to say could be said in one or maybe two sentences. Then what? Well, then, Idiot, you have to tell him about your new job. Or not tell him directly about your new job. But tell him so he will understand about your new job." McQueen would be arriving tomorrow. He had agreed to spend New Year's Eve at the farm. Kylen did not want to appear naive or childish - not able to handle the situation, but she had decided that if Nathan didn't call before McQueen arrived then she would try to get some guidance from the Colonel. "Kylen, he is just going to tell you: 'you're on your own there, Kid.' But I can at least try. Maybe he'll take pity on me." she thought.

Kylen put on her Greenbrier sweatsuit and went downstairs.

"The Mouse is in the house. We are free from phone duty." Allston said to their older brother Ewan with obvious relief and long suffering.

"Can it," Kylen snapped, shocking both her brothers. She was losing her sense of humor - something that they weren't used to. Something they had rarely seen in her character before. She poured herself an ample drink. Scotch. This was new too. Ewan gave the glass and his sister an appraising look.

"What?" she snapped again. "I'm over twenty-one."

"So the rumors would have us believe," Ewan teased. He wasn't about to be bullied by his little sister's mood, but neither was he willing to confront her.

Kylen took her scotch and retreated into her father's study. She had taken to sleeping in the room to be closer to the phone. Unable to read - her concentration wasn't up to it - she took out some knitting, which she hated but found somehow relaxing.

Her mother had insisted that all of the children learn some sort of 'hand work' - even the boys. It had something to do with setting down learning pathways in the brain so all the children had been taught. Kylen had, even as a child, resented the distinctly 'domestic' implications of the craft, but now found it strangely calming.

Kylen muttered to herself: "Well, Penelope, it ain't weaving and I'll be damned if I ever take this apart, but I bet you didn't think that five thousand years after your death women would still be sitting around doing this to distract themselves while the men were away at war." Kylen started another row. Nothing fancy - straight old knit one, purl two - her concentration wasn't up to anything more demanding. As she eased into the rhythm Kylen did feel strangely connected to the women of the past. As if the yarn was somehow unbroken down through the ages - as if her spirit was now strung onto this thread along with the spirits belonging to generations of women before - as if she looked quickly over her shoulder she would see them all stretched out in a line behind her - a line reaching back seemingly forever. It was an oddly comforting image.

End chapter two