It is 0406 local time, the deep dark outside the hospital window is broken only by the glow of artificial lighting scattered about the grounds four stories below. There seems to be a path down there, the kind that meanders without a real destination. Seems rather appropriate to think about it, considering how my life has gone of late. The only thing missing is the fatal train-wreck I made of three innocent lives.

I need dawn, but haven't slept through the gloomy dark. Weariness wars with recrimination, then they ally to assault my sense of reason. How could this happen? Why?

Behind me, a throat clears. I spin, half expecting some OES baddie, but am instead greeted by Brother Colum's even smile. "Doctor Harrington sent word that you might be struggling with what happened. How are you doing, Shawn?"

I shrug, "About as well as can be expected."

"You have just ducked my question in a rather obvious fashion. Care to try for just a hint more reality?"

I look at him; he is prying, but doing it in such a way that I can't seem to get mad. "What's the difference?"

"Why are you up at four in the morning?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"You have never had cause to really grieve, have you?"

"About what?"

"My point exactly. We humans go through grief at losing those we love..."

"Wait a minute, I never did anything with Camilla and the two of them were faithful to each other as far as I could tell."

He nods and continues, "I do not mean 'love' in any sexual sense, Shawn. I mean 'love' like family, something Brother Patrick told me you do not actually have."

"Yeah, well, I did care about them and they about me. Didn't really know Patrick, but he seemed okay."

"Do you believe in Someone greater than man?"

"You mean like a god? You trying to convert me?"

"No. Trying to understand who you may blame. It could be yourself, it could be another person, or even a group like perhaps the intelligence agency types who hound you. For those who are believers in Someone greater, there is often a blame that goes something like, 'If He/She were really powerful, He/She could have stopped this from happening'."

"What does it matter who I blame?"

"Anger is one of the steps grief takes. Anger that can at times cause irrational or hurtful behavior. Anger in the hands of one with weapons of war can become a bad thing. The good doctor wanted me to speak to you to get a sense of where you might direct any anger... whether outwards at someone else, or inwards in self-destructive ways."

"You sound like a shrink. I don't do shrinks."

"I understand. I think that may be why Doc Harrington asked for me, I'm not a 'shrink' in any manner of the term. I do listen to people, though, and I want you to know that you are a valuable person, even if your grief tells you that you aren't."

"This doesn't make sense. Why are you here at four in the morning to tell me this?"

"Because the doctor's message arrived at our door at one-forty-five and I couldn't walk faster."

"You walked?"

"Yup. Maybe Brother Patrick never told you, but we prefer to maintain simplicity in keeping our vows. Part of how that simplicity works out is that we walk when we travel locally."

"But it's dark out."

"So? The stars are out and the risen moon has a day more than a quarter. Lots of light to walk the road by and no real reason to fear.

"Wow." I remember the first time I heard Brother Patrick talk about walking everywhere, I thought he was certifiable... but neither he nor the man now in front of me seem crazy.

He looks at me from under rather bushy gray brows, not seeming to care what I think of his homespun getup or the dust the walk has added to his boots. He speaks again, "Look, Shawn, I suspect you would rather return to the winding path." He is quite correct, though I wonder just how obvious I'm being in spite of trying to be polite. His eyes are steady and his tone understanding when he asks, "Shawn, are you at risk of hurting yourself?"

I chuckle, "Nah, there are plenty of other folks who would be glad to do the honors." I see something of a concerned expression and continue, "I'm still a fighter, I don't give up quite so easily."

He nods again, "Good. I'll trust your word on that. Any idea when you are to be released?"

"Well..." I try to draw out the answer, wondering if I've lost some reason not to trust him. In the end, I really don't remember any, "Tomorrow or the next day."

"Fine, we'll set the wake for the day after you are out."

"Thanks."

…..

"OWWWW!" I'm being tortured by a contraption strapped to my head. It seems to have been designed to make my skull implode, and the headache I'm developing makes me wonder if it isn't working.

A white coated tech does something and the pressure eases a bit. She stands, walks to my side, and loosens the straps that bind it to me.

"Got what you needed?" I ask in what can only be described as a most weary tone of voice.

"I think we got a good threshold, but your doctor will have to determine what it means for someone your age."

I keep forgetting that I'm not a youngster anymore; it's a good thing all these kids keep reminding me. Not.

…..

"I think you can be released, but the Alvaine test still shows too much deformation for me to believe the fibrocartilage callus at the fracture site is quite stable enough yet," Doc Harrington states with the apparent presumption that I understand what he's talking about.

"What was that again... um... and could you try plain English for the sake of one who is a bit less proficient in Doctorese?"

He laughs, "I think your test results show that your skull at the fracture site is still not hardened enough to try space or even high gravity atmospheric flight."

"Okay, that I understand."

Still chuckling, he replies, "Good. I want to release you this afternoon with instructions to come back in one week from today for us to check that again. Sound reasonable?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Oh, your room is mobbed again."

I look at the glas wall and he displays the scene for me. Lanai is seated by my bed reading something on her glas. Agent Ellison is pacing along one wall with one of the Advocacy's uniformed gorillas looking at her as she passes back and forth. Associate Erica Vas is sitting almost opposite Lanai with her eyes either closed of nearly so. Finally, Athas Mgren and Dnong Ksack stand against the remaining wall, the Seer seeming to watch everything while the diplomat is pretty much just watching the door. Since the Marines were reassigned yesterday, I at least have no one else pondering what to do with or to me.

"Got a back way out?" I joke.

He laughs again while shaking his head, "No."

…..

Every head turns as I round the corner and step past the chair Erica occupies.

Doctor Harrington is right on my heels, starting out by announcing, "Okay, assembled interested persons: it is my professional opinion that Mr. Ryan can be released this afternoon as long as he is not going to fly into space or do any high performance flight maneuvers. I would also advise against getting into fights with roving gangs of hooligans, but there are limits to what a doctor can expect out of his patient."

Before anyone can comment, I say, "I'm going to head over to the plantation and try to figure out what needs to be done there. Those of you who insist on following are of course welcome to do so."

Lanai's eyes seem to light on Agent Ellison and her companion. I don't think she trusts them.

Dnong steps from the wall and imitates a Xi'An smile, though with a huge dose of hardness in his eyes... I have to wonder why he is enjoying himself. "I am only here to make an announcement, one that the diplomatic corps will be formally passing on to your government."

"Then why tell us early?" I rather interrupt, not really trusting his intent, but rather sure it has to do with a formal protest that I wasn't released to them.

"Because I believe you and your associates at MARC will find the news... stimulating."

I sense more than see Erica sit forward to my right and Lanai is giving him her undivided attention.

Dnong is obviously enjoying himself too much, pausing for dramatic effect. He makes a deliberate show of looking at everyone around the room, with his eyes finally resting on Lanai. "On my orders," he resumes, "Jenk Gallen has been arrested for espionage."

Lanai's expression doesn't change.

There is, however, a very significant response from someone else in the room: Agent Ellison. "NO!" she screams.

Dnong's head comes around to look at her with an expression as near to confusion as I've ever seen him exhibit. "I received confirmation just a few hours ago." He glances at me and Lanai, then his gaze returns to the Agent.

I too look her way, suddenly realizing that something must be very wrong... she looks infuriated. "You will order his immediate release, slink," she says clearly but with a huge weight of venom dripping from every word. Behind her, the uniform seems poised to clear his weapon.

It occurs to me that there are now likely no more than three armed people in the room: The two of them and maybe Erica Vas.

Glancing back, I see that Dnong has his inscrutable Xi'An face on, seeming suddenly calm and unperturbed. He glances quickly at me and the back at the Agent. "Ith asas (I was wrong)," he quietly hisses and I see Athas Mgren nod just enough to recognize it.

"What was that?!" Ellison barks.

I look back to see that her goon has indeed cleared his weapon, holding it in the professionally casual manner that the experienced often adopt before using it.

"I will not rescind the order. The evidence has been passed on to the Emperor's High Council and the matter is no longer in my hands."

She is livid. Her lip curls just a bit and she looks about to speak... suddenly, her focus shifts and she is looking directly at me.

"YOU!" she screams. "You ruined EVERYTHING! If you had just died when you were supposed to this wouldn't have happened!" Her sidearm is effortlessly cleared and the uniform is obviously now covering the room.

Out of a corner of my eye, I see Erica move as if to rise, but Goon shifts his weapon to target her and she sinks back down.

"Close and lock the door, Doctor." Ellison orders and I hear the click of the latch behind me.

Lanai is the only person I can see who seems relaxed, and now she chooses to speak up, "You do know that you are unlikely to leave the planet alive now that you have shown your true colors."

"Not if I don't leave any of you alive."

"There is a camera in the ceiling above the door sill, our people have the feed and will refer it to those who will need it."

"I am a patriot, no one will stop me."

"Suit yourself," Lanai smiles at her as comfortably as if she had just told her that she liked her outfit.

At about the same moment, several things happen. The Advocacy Agent looks over at Lanai, her companion glances the same way, too. Erica suddenly has a weapon clearing, Dnong shoves Athas Mgren into the corner somewhat behind me and leaps to interpose the bed between himself and the Agents.

A laser flashes and a gunshot rings out in the same heartbeat, and both uniform and Erica seem to have fired. Ellison pivots and her weapon raises to fire at me, but Lanai leaps like a somal (aka., Terran Jaguar), covering the gap of nearly two meters before the Agent can get her round off. Uniform is slumping to the floor, a hole in his forehead spewing red with his dying heartbeats.

From under the bed another laser reaches out, slicing Lanai's arm as she spins around Ellison. She rather grunts in pain, the bright red slice crippling her as the Agent wrestles her weapon clear and tries again to point it my way. Dnong fires a second time from his hidden position and there is one fewer Advocacy Agent to trouble this world.

Behind me, Doc Harrington is calling into the hallway, "Two crashcarts! Stat!"

Dnong rushes to Lanai and is applying pressure to her wound.

I squat down to Erica's side and see her last recognition and a faint smile. Her chest is covered with blood and I realize that the back of the chair has exploded outwards.

"You did good, Associate," I breathe and think for a moment that she appreciates this... then her eyes close.

…..

Chaos. The swarm of yammering officials and intensely active medical folks all swirling around like smoke over a battlefield is enough to drive one insane in short order.

It has been two hours since my room became a combat zone, now I'm sitting in some large waiting area having a short break before the next questioning from whomever begins.

Lanai has had her arm sewn shut and seems otherwise none the worse for wear. She is seated across the room from me; she's being grilled by someone from the High Advocate's office, smiling and seemingly taking it all in stride.

Athas Mgren is still seated to one side, maybe three meters away; she has said that she is here representing the Emperor's interest in my wellbeing and is sticking to that assignment.

Dnong Ksack is... hmmm, well, I don't know where he has gotten himself to. Come to think of it, I haven't seen him since Doc Harrington and a nurse took over caring for Lanai.

Somehow, in the midst of all the shiny synths and white hospital garb, formal tunics and utilitarian flight-gear, there is a simple robe covering a figure who has at least my years behind him. Brother Colum has arrived and while most of the official types seem oblivious of his presence, I note that a goodly number of the locals either greet him personally or are at least courteous to him. Right now he is talking with the nurse who tended to Lanai, a young woman of maybe twenty who seems very shaken by her experience with the wounded and the dead. Were I to bet, by the time he leaves her, she will feel more at ease with what she has dealt with today.

…..

"You sure are trouble," a very familiar voice says from behind.

"Why thank you, Gloria."

"You are welcome, of course. Rather seems like you are a trouble magnet, pulling even Advocacy turncoats out of the woodwork."

"Yeah, it has to be my personality," I smirk and she laughs. I notice that Lanai looks up from her side of the room and I add, "That young woman helped save a lot of lives today, mine included."

"I'll make sure she is properly punished for that mistake," Gloria retorts with a mischievous grin.

"Thank you. Thank you very much," I fire back, adding a raspberry to punctuate my reply.

"I'm rather impressed. Her reports indicate you haven't made a pass at her."

"If she would be interested without MARC, I would..." I sigh and Gloria is studying me again. "... But she is bright, competent, confident, and on a ten scale she is a twelve. I don't think anything that could happen would be real... and honestly, I rather have a friend that I can trust than a lover who might not be what I imagine."

"Very reasonable. Regretting Xin?"

"Maybe a little. Trying to be myself."

"Losing your friends hurts, doesn't it?"

"When I let myself think about it."

"You seem pretty somber right now."

"Sorry, I'm doing the best I can."

"I bet." She pauses and I watch as those in the room continue their conversations. Finally, Gloria continues, "Have you been back to the plantation?"

"No, meant to go this afternoon, but..." I gesture at the room before me, "... Something came up."

Gloria looks back my way, "You are still in danger. Tish is calling in a lot of markers to get you. He may already know about Gallen, but it feels to me like this is more personal now... he does not seem to take multiple failures very well."

"Great, maybe I just need to fly out to orbit, drop my shields, and announce my presence."

"Don't be an ass, Shawn. If your ships are working, I suggest you find a place to lie low. I bet the Diplomat there would be able to get you somewhere that will be out of sight if not out of mind."

"Can't do space for a week. My skull could make my helmet into a real brain bucket."

"Well... find a place. Go off grid somewhere. This Gallen thing is likely to explode on its own, and there are those who won't be very understanding of you as an Imperial contractor."

I nod, but say nothing. Lanai seems to be finished with her interview and is walking towards us.

"Ma'am," Lanai says with a slight bow.

"Need a lift?" Gloria asks and it occurs to me that she wasn't here to talk to me at all.

Lanai frowns, glances at me, and looks back at the bald Reporter. "May I ask why?"

"You may, but I'll not answer here. Don't worry, the old bat already stood up for you and the Librarian isn't disappointed."

"Hey," I object, "If you're going to butcher it, at least use 'Goat' instead of 'Bat'... that way it is still TOG: The Old Goat."

They both smile and laugh. Lanai, looks back at Gloria and quietly says, "Lead on."

Gloria smiles my way, "Remember what I said."

I nod and rise.

As Lanai passes me she adds, "Take care, you kindly old goat."

"You too, oh dream weaver."

"What does that mean?" She asks, suddenly stopped.

"It means I'll see you in my dreams."

I think she is blushing just a little as she answers, "Good. You deserve something nice."

…..

"Wow, those sure got messed up." The speaker is a tallish man with an Earth accent walking towards me from a recently landed Aurora. I note that said craft has a Premera Insurance logo on the side.

I'm recently arrived at the hangar that once stood beside the plantation's beautiful Big House. In front of me are the damaged remains of the 315 and the mostly intact 350. The latter appears to have benefited from the presence of the former; the 315 seems to have taken most of the flying debris impacts, ripping off the nose, shredding all the starboard wing, and pushing the craft so hard that the landing gear bent sideways to lay the fuselage on the pavement. In contrast, there is one place on the 350 where a section of steel beam flew through part of the aft cargo space, otherwise there are just numerous dings in the starboard armor from the array of nuts, bolts, rocks, concrete pieces, and even sheet metal that now lays on the paving beneath.

"Yeah," I respond. "The blast rather did a little damage."

"First one of these where I get to see the whole bird on the ground. Quite the cleanup," he chuckles then he gets down to business, "Are you Shawn Ryan?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Should I ask what happened?"

I point at the house, "Someone dropped a bomb on the house. Haven't caught up with him or her yet, but if they survive I'll be glad to refer them to your legal department."

He laughs, "Yeah, well, if they survive." The smile fades again and, as he gestures at the damaged craft, he continues, "Mind if I take a look at them for the claims?"

"Go right ahead. The property guy is due any time."

"No problem, this shouldn't take long. Any security on the 350?"

"Not unless you try to take the seat. I can get that if you need to try to start systems up."

"I might, need to see if that nasty puncture hit any of your controls or avionics. Frame can be repaired and most of the non-flight, too, but the number of repeat and escalated claims on avionics and controls may make it easier to just replace it and have the factory refurb it for resale."

"Whatever works."

"Thanks." He walks off to wander around the demolished 315.

I walk around the hangar towards the back of the 350... and my eyes fall on a spot on the wall that is still discolored. That is where they found me, crumpled against the cold hardness, bleeding enough that I might not have made it if first responders hadn't gotten to me for another twenty minutes or so. The mess is total, even if things are still somewhat where they should be. I'm rather overwhelmed, I don't even know where to start to return some form of order.

A frustrated hummingbird zips up fairly near my head, his sapphire blue gorget flashing even here in the relative shade. He hovers there making several annoyed sounds, suddenly zipping off. I guess the feeders that hang around the property are all empty now. Looking around, I confirm that the one about twenty meters away near the hangar doors is indeed drained. Maybe that is something I can do that will serve as a start towards getting this cleaned up: feed the hummingbirds.

I walk back out of the hangar and up onto the remains of the patio. I think I headed this way to mix sugar and water in the big pitcher I always use... I've done this hundreds of times. Thing is, there is no kitchen left to go to. I finally confront the immensity of the disaster: my home and those I cared about who lived here are gone.

The force of the blast left only a section of cracked foundation and the twisted ends of some of the water pipes, everything else is gone. I could have taken a child's toy house and run it over with a tractor and not done as complete a job of destruction... the ground is wiped clean.

I am emotionless. I know the facts, but I've somehow blocked off the pain. All I'm aware of is a huge sense that this just isn't fair. How could this happen? What could I have done differently? Is this all just a farcical dream that I need to wake up from? I'd trade my ships to have this all be just an exceptionally bad nightmare. Somehow this is worse than waking up in that horrid RRS compound to spend another day working the solid waste ponds.

…..

This has been a rough couple of days... okay, that isn't fair... a rough couple of months. I'm rather drained right now, sitting in the big chair on the inoperable 350, wondering what's next and not really knowing if I'm really ready for it.

After spending some of the afternoon finding sugar and water to feed the hummingbirds, I got to deal with an argumentative insurance agent over the property and what was there. That was sure a lot of fun... not.

I look down at the glas I've been using to access the plantation's accounts; I'm having to put a lot back into it from my own slim set of credits. I've made sure to pay my workers for continuing the second flush harvest, hand rolling the orange pekoe, and then moving it to the drying shed. The job is labor intensive, but it makes a fine black tea; if my plantation is known for anything, it is the quality of the teas I produce and my second flush black is even shipped to Earth.

I shut down the bank link and stare out the window in front of me. Dusk has fallen and all but the last warm sunset light has faded. I wonder what is next.

…..

Morning seems brighter. I'm rather stiff from sleeping in the pilot's seat; seems I never moved after doing the banking. Still, light is streaming in and I'm rather ready to get out and about.

I walk to the edge of the landing pad and out onto the slightly overgrown lawn. Before me lies the whole of my plantation; it almost flows down the hill, the rows following the contours and every plant flat-topped at just the right height to allow all but the shortest pickers to reach across the plants.

There are already white-garbed people moving about among the acres of tea leaves: pickers plucking the second growth of the season, their baskets filling with the white-haired top bud and the emerald second leaf. The process is so simple, any gardener would recognize it, but it is hard work that I have always insisted on paying fairly for.

I recognize John's hat maybe a hundred and fifty meters down the hill. He used to fill in for Arron when he and Camilla were away... maybe I need to talk with him about taking over as manager.

"Excuse me?" a man behind me says abruptly and I pivot to face a rather weasel faced person of about thirty. He continues, "I'm looking for Mister Ryan, is he here today?"

"I'm Shawn Ryan," I reply, wondering who this newcomer is.

"Ah, I'm probably looking for your son, the owner."

He's not exactly getting on my better side, "I am the owner."

"Well, part owner, anyway," he retorts while a rather evil look comes into his eyes. "I'm Dubban Mox of Henson, Simms, Dubber, and Mox, we represent the estate of the late Camilla Rosa. It appears that she died without a will and I'm here at the request of her heirs to determine the property's value and marketability prior to disposal of her assets."

"I'll buy it back for what she paid for her share of it."

"Oh, well, that will not be enough. There are bids on the line already to turn this area into a... well, you needn't worry, we will address that later."

"I'm still a primary owner, we can discuss any attempt to force me to sell this to anyone right now."

"Liquidating assets is probably not your strong suit, sir. Someone of your age is likely not really able to manage a property such as this on your own anyway. Don't worry, you will be able to find a nice retirement spot with your share of the proceeds," he smirks.

I begin to wonder if I can get the 350's weapons online fairly quickly. My response is starting to take on the cold tone of one trying to control his anger, "On the contrary, I think you will find that I can do a fairly good job of taking care of my own. Besides, in this county, I'm already well known and I employ enough people that your little project of kicking me off my land will run into some serious opposition."

He chuckles and the evil look grows meaner, "You will have serious problems if you think you can fight Henson, Simms, Dubber, and Mox. We are major contributors to the sitting Terran Senators' campaigns and most of the planetary legislature as well." His pronouncement is meant to sound triumphant.

"So you are challenging me to match influence with influence?"

His smile is vile, "You would have to have very powerful friends to match us."

I think about my intelligence contacts and smile back... perhaps not as evilly, but enough that he blanches for a moment before starting to look cautious. "Of course, if you have sufficient resources to match their offers, we might be able to come to some accommodation."

"Perhaps I can offer you a chance to make more deals in the future."

"Like what?"

"Like living long enough as a free man to make deals."

He looks offended but also a bit startled. "Are you threatening me, sir?"

"No. Just observing that there is a reason that you are here, isn't there?"

"Yes, representing the estate of the late Camilla Ro..."

"The operative word," I interrupt, "That you might take note of is 'late', isn't it?"

If Mr. Mox could get any paler, he just did. He looks at me with a bit of shock.

"Dubban... may I call you Dubban?" I don't wait for his answer, "The people who tried to kill me and got Camilla and two others are probably already aware that this conversation is taking place. If I let it be known that I'm doing some quiet business with one Dubban Mox of Henson, Simms, Dubber, and Mox, do you have any idea what that might mean to your health... or your family's?"

Now the term ashen applies to his face as the blood all appears to drain away.

"I seriously doubt that they will believe you as they torture you and yours for information that you will obviously not have... but that I can make seem pretty obvious that you do."

"You wouldn't do..."

"Care to see the hole in the ground that used to be our Big House? My enemies are not trivial and they don't play around. Of course, neither do my friends," I add, letting the implied magnitude settle in.

He looks towards the patio and the damaged foundation visible beyond. Almost quietly enough that I don't hear him, he finally responds, "Perhaps we can come to some kind of accommodation, Mr. Ryan."

With some amount of condescension in my tone I reply, "I think that is a more healthy attitude, Mr. Mox."

"We will be in contact, Mr. Ryan."

"Please don't dawdle, Mr. Mox. I would hate to have to conclude that you have changed your mind again... it might set things in motion that could catch up those who are innocent."

He looks at me and I see genuine fear. "I will get right on finding a solution that you will be able to agree to. Please give me a week or two, it won't be longer, I promise."

"If you keep it that short, I will try to be patient."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Ryan," he chokes out before scurrying off. His body language reminds me of nothing so much as a dog with its tail between its legs.

…..

"I don't know, sir," John Saban says with a suddenly furrowed brow. "I'll need to talk with the wife about it, but I suspect she won't want that much responsibility."

I've just asked John about taking Arron's place and honestly I had expected him to jump at it. "Um... okay, I... well, I thought you liked it when you stood in for Arron when they were away."

"I did. But the things Camilla did were the heart of running the place." I would swear there is a weariness as he says this. Continuing, he admits, "I sure don't want to do that stuff and I doubt the missus will want to either. I can stand in for the field work and processing, but not any of that other stuff."

As I consider his words, I have to admit I had it pretty good with Camilla pretty much running the operation and managing the books. "Well, I might hit you up for that and just get someone separate in for the business side of things."

"If you get someone, I'll consider the hands-on stuff..." he pauses, then continues, "But I'm not taking it until you have someone, I'm not fool enough to take the nasty stuff on by default while waiting for someone who never comes."

"Fair enough. I'll talk with the coop to see if anyone there would want to come down and join us."

"You might want to rebuild the Big House first."

"Good point, don't want them thinking they are sleeping in the drying shed."

"Yup."

Coming up the hill is the brown robed figure of one of the Brothers.

"Brother Brian," John says, while nodding more than bowing in acknowledgment.

"Hello, John. How are you and yours?"

"Well, Brother, quite well. If you'll excuse me, though, I need to get back to work."

Brother Brian... well I don't know the man, but I presume that's his name... nods in John's direction and then faces me. "Shawn Ryan, I presume."

"Guilty as charged. I would guess you are from Colum... er, Brother Colum's um..." The term I'm mentally searching for evades me like a sound evades the fingers.

It would appear, however, that he's pretty good at guessing, "Priory. And yes, I am."

"Yeah, priory, that's it. So, how may I help you, sir?"

"Well, we have the wake scheduled for tonight. Brother Colum asks that you be at the priory by 1600 for a quick tour and explanation of the festivities."

"Sure, no problem. Is there a pad on the grounds? Oh, and what is the homing frequency?"

He laughs, "Nearest landing pad is next to the market; it's maybe three hundred meters away. We don't have anything like a beacon. Just head to Weymouth and you can't miss the Priory, it's the only grouping of multi-story stone buildings anywhere about."

"Fair enough. Sure, I'll be there."

"Thank you, I will relay your acceptance to Brother Colum."

"Thanks for letting me know about it."

He smiles warmly and replies, "The pleasure is mine, sir. Good day." Turning, he makes his way back down the hill, greeting other workers as he goes. It occurs to me that he is walking back, just like Brother Patrick used to...

Brother Patrick. He was just there to help. I look at the hole where the house used to be and something in me cries out in agony. Three innocent people. I think for a moment about those children's tales... are there such things as ghosts? I've seen pretty strange things in my life, it really wouldn't surprise me if there were spirits abroad among us. Now I have to wonder if the three of them are standing here right now, glaring at me in their misery or their anger at being victims of my presence in their lives.

I feel really lonely all of a sudden.

…..

I guess I didn't need to know about a landing pad, I don't have a working ship right now, go figure. One thing about it, I bet there won't be any attempt on my life while I'm taking public transit.

The ground transport here is called a 'bus'... I've got no clue where that name came from. It is a combo, hover capable but using wheels to maneuver in town. This afternoon the narrow space that is something like an individual monorail car is filled with what I can only presume are working folks. I suspect most of them are on their way home, the condition of their clothes implies a lot of labor earlier in the day. Two pickers from the plantation are sitting towards the back chatting happily with several other passengers, but I am otherwise unfamiliar with the individuals who surround me.

The trip isn't taking all that long to cover the eleven kilometers, but it might as well be to another planet... I don't think I've seen actual 'countryside' like this since I left home to board that Covalex scow for my trip into the deep black of space. I realize that I usually fly everywhere, on-world as well as off... and it occurs to me that I might have missed a lot of beauty because of my hurry. The most striking thing is that trees look different from down here. Sure, I know what trees look like and all, but looking out the window through the mottled light that seems to change as we move by is almost more alien than the terraformers at Hadur III were.

I seem entranced by the sights and find myself glad for the distraction.

…..

Four long blocks from the transport stop is the enclosure for the Priory. A stone wall, maybe three meters tall, surrounds buildings that are indeed the tallest around, each reflecting fine stonework and careful attention to detail. There is even one tallish tower shaped structure that I was able to see even before I left the bus; as I get closer, it becomes obvious that it is rounded, with no flat sides... kinda like a tube with a cone roof on it.

I'm struck that this priory feels both old and permanent. Sure, there are a lot of places on Terra that are several hundred standards old, but this feels more like something from Earth that had stood for millennia.

…..

A robed person is waiting at the gate, his purpose immediately understood as he asks, "Here for the wake?"

"Yes, I'm Shawn Ryan."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Ryan. Brother Colum is expecting you. He wishes you to meet him in the scriptorium..." he apparently sees the confused look and tries something different, "The library..." and finally he resorts to pointing, "That building across the way, next to the dormitory."

"Ah, thanks."

I check my mobi to see if I'm on time, only to realize that it is inoperative.

The gatekeeper smiles and says calmly, "Sorry, but those don't work within the walls."

"Why?"

He shrugs and repeats himself, "They just don't. It reduces temptation, I guess."

I'm obviously puzzled.

"You could ask the Prior when you see him."

"Who is that?"

He laughs, "Brother Colum is our Prior."

"Oh."

…..

I walk around a smallish courtyard in a kind of colonnaded walkway. All the structures about me are stone, but the courtyard itself is verdant with plants and color. Birds seem to be chattering all around and I even spy a hummingbird darting around near a couple of feeders. There is one robed figure working around some bushes, kneeling as he prunes or shapes them.

I see no one else as I walk my way to the open doors of what turns out to be a simply appointed hall with actual books on shelves that line the walls and various desks as well. In a corner, sitting on the well worn wooden floor and attending to an open volume is Brother Colum himself.

…..

"So, have any questions?" Brother Colum asks as we finish a quick tour around the priory.

"Yeah, why are the mobiglas inop here?"

He chuckles, something I realize he has done a lot since I showed up. "Please understand, this is a place of contemplation and retreat. We are part of an ancient traditional form of Christian Monasticism, the Franciscans. We strive to live simply and those devices that plagued most of our members' days before they came to us are each and every one a nexus of complications."

"Ain't that the truth," I comment.

Smiling, he continues, "Historically, our Abbots were neutral about such devices until the ascension of the second Messer. We suddenly got an influx of former security types who wanted nothing to do with the regime and came to us to find moral balance. They brought with them technology that effectively hid their presence from their former associates by blocking all signals within a small area. The Abbot of Iona at the time, Brother Finn, discovered their use and realized that further removing the Abbey and all his priories from ready device searches would benefit all the brothers, allowing greater immersion in our tasks and devotions. This priory has been communications device free for hundreds of standards, with thousands of the small transmitters installed all around."

"Kinda overkill, isn't it?"

"I was a OES operative until I was forty. Brother Patrick, your late friend, was a Naval Corpsman with the Marines. I have several others here who might also wish limitations on their past ever intruding into their new life. Do you not see that what annoys you is easily corrected; you simply walk back out the gate. The danger to my brothers would be much greater if the fact that you must leave to use your toy influenced me to remove the fields."

I shrug, "Yeah, I guess it's your party."

Fairly near at hand, some lively music is starting up.

"Speaking of parties," the Prior says, "We have a wake to attend. Will you follow me, Shawn?"

"Lead on."

…..

I collapse exhausted into a chair, watching the dancing folk as they let the instruments drive their bodies. The driving force is apparently called 'traditional Irish music' and it is played on non-electrified instruments of all sorts.

There are stringed things played with fingers and others with a saw-like thing that I think is called a 'bowl'. There are different types of things people seem to blow into, and one multi-legged contraption with what looks like a bellows under the fellow's arm that sounds like a cross between a braying donkey backing a distant memory of a dream. There are drums and other things I've never seen before, in all the players seem almost welded together as they make the music with spirit and often sweaty endurance.

I look towards the dais where holos of the three stand as if they were here with us. Well, I guess they actually aren't holographs as such, they appear to be printed onto some kind of metallic material. Whatever they are, Camilla looks so serene in her image... I bet it was made from a wedding holo, she has that kind of sparkle. Arron, too, looks like he has just achieved something grand... or at least something that was grand to him. Brother Patrick is merely standing, looking peacefully at the viewer. The pictures almost make them seem present... only the empty place they once had in my heart reminds me that this wake thing seems so odd. These people are celebrating. I guess if I look at it that I'm celebrating that I got to know them and have years of relationship with them...

I feel really tired. I miss them, even Brother Patrick whom I hardly knew. Life goes on. Well... except for the three of them. I guess if these Brothers are right, maybe even they are going on in more than my memory. I think I'll pass on trying to find out any sooner than I have to.