CHAPTER ELEVEN: Consider the Possibilities
PART ONE…The Creationists …
The first sun peeked above Gunsmoke's horizon and Knives attempted to shield his eyes with a blanket. He hoped to sleep in, as his body wanted, but his mind felt otherwise. There was really no room for rest, considering the vast list of things he ought to do that day. No, there would be no more rest, he decided, amid the buzzing thoughts. Yawning angrily, he crawled out of bed and stretched. Nuisance led him from the hut to the separate 'cat barn,' where Knives dumped a considerable amount of canned meats and fresh water into large, shallow basins for the ferals. Upon returning to the hut, Nuisance mewed and complained until she received her own heaping portion of meat. Before the second sun rose, an hour and a half later, Knives had prepared the sky tanks for the week's drench.
Knives had reinvented a rain system throughout his greenhouses. The upper tanks were all supplied by pulleys and buckets, primitive and hand-run in order to maintain this relationship with the plants. The only thing he used from them was water, since the seedlings he used were all old specimens from a well preserved crash site. Of course, the humans in cold sleep had been retrieved by the Earthlings months ago, surely to be revived upon reentry. They'd had no interest with the other species.
Plants weren't the only specimens he was pleased to have retrieved from SEEDS wreckage. Many lesser animals were necessary for plant life, and so earthworms, insects, and various other tiny creatures were resurrected and bred to tend to his garden while Knives was out.
Bugs couldn't do everything. Knives had a purpose here, too.
Moving to a bench beside the greenhouse entrance, Knives stripped off his dingy clothing. He stepped into his infant ecosystem nude. He knew no shame, no self-consciousness, for he had no reason to. This was practical and ideal; nothing deserving of a second thought.
As he moved through the series of one-acre greenhouse complexes, pulling the pipe drains open, he paused here and there to enjoy his foliage. Once the soft mist fell from the pipes and grew into a soft rain, just walking around served as a shower for him. Days of sweat, sand, and bodily grime washed away. It was a sort of renewal, this chore, an awkward attempt at nature in a mainly artificial environment. Water previously cooled from the underground tanks eased the pink of his ears and face and shoulders. Outside this complex was a sort of hell. Inside, it was the beginning of an Eden. Granted, this was a tiny Eden, but terra-forming a planet takes time.
The greenery grew thicker and untamed in the larger complexes, where vines wound high and trees attempted forests. These saplings were hardly a thought now, but their promise was immense. With thicker flora came higher quality air, and Knives breathed deep of the oxygen-rich, clean air. He knelt to pluck a mature squash from the ground and held it into the downpour, cleaning off its grime as well. This was breakfast, raw and fresh. As Knives wrapped another thick cord from the drains about his arm and tugged, he held the squash between his teeth, chewing up more of the thing as he moved onto the next.
This one held the lesser plants, luxury items as far as plant life went. These were flowering plants and edible plants that required extra care. Knives liked to think this was a challenge only, but the mere sight of the reds and pinks and purples of the flowers made him gasp a bit. This place was a glimpse of life such that Gunsmoke had never before beheld.
As he tugged upon the cord and began the soft mist upon these precious flowers, he glanced about, wishing someone or thing could witness with him. But Nuisance, now running about crazily in the misty underbrush, cared not for colors she couldn't see. The insects and such that buzzed and shuffled about him were busy with their own business. Knives, surrounded with the life he'd dreamed for over a hundred years, was so completely alone. His naked shoulders slouched a bit, and his posture loosened as he sauntered forth, wishing another body could share these sensations.
Skin wrinkled with moisture, Knives finished up and walked the long distance back through the greenhouses. Once back inside his hut, he sat in an old chair and stared at his walls, sighing slightly. In place of tapestries or art, he had hung clothing along the walls of his home. There were many places Knives had ventured, retrieving and scavenging for things he may one day need. These places included Vanessa's cave. In fact, he had three of her old dresses here, including the torn and stained sundress from the day he had 'taught' her to use her angel weapon. The rust-colored bloodstains smelled like Vanessa. It was a good smell; a familiar smell. Also hanging up and smelling comforting was a pair of small dresses from Callisto's brief childhood. On the opposite walls, Knives displayed some garments he'd found in wreckage – two blue children's outfits quite similar to he and his brothers' on the SEEDS ships, and several other SEEDS work suits, for adults, that closely resembled outfits he had worn in the past. These clothes were Knives' only photo album. Faces matched these things, but he could only close his eyes to see them.
For a long, indulgent moment, Knives crawled back into bed, tugging Vanessa's old quilt under his chin.
He closed his eyes and recalled the features of faces. He imagined Vash hurt further by the humans, financially, physically, psychologically, whatever. Vanessa was surely unhappy with him then, planning to leave him, to bring Tessla to Gunsmoke again. Perhaps she would wait for Tessla to know the evils of the humans, and let her make her own decision later. Yes, surely Vanessa was planning to find a way back to Gunsmoke. Knives knew himself to be dangerous, and he wished he could turn back time and either take back or apologize for his frightening actions towards her. His heart ached when he remembered her face after he slaughtered that little town, and her concealed pain after he'd cut up her body. He should've been kinder and more honest with her. If he had, he was sure she would have seen the light, and known his affection for her. But no, he'd been aggressive and selfish from the start. Now, listening to the howl of sandy winds against his hut and to the soft rumble of the cat nestling into the quilt beside him, he knew regret. Oh, how he missed her. He missed them.
He wondered what Callisto was up to.