Chapter 20

Monday, September 9, 3089, 2:25 p.m. She had begun to show. Not much at only 14 weeks, but enough that she felt the constriction in her cords in the morning. Fortune had blessed Rebecca with the discovery of an experienced midwife in the personage of Gudrun, cementing their developing foster-mother-daughter relationship. Rebecca considered Frieda her adopted little sister and had already converted the 5-year-old to 21st Century thinking. Perverted her, Gudrun might disagree. As a mother, she loathed Rebecca’s taste in music. Frieda had developed a surprisingly good singing voice, memorizing nearly every song in Rebecca’s playlist. She sang day and night, dancing to the videos Rebecca had on her cell phone.

“Will Gerhard disown me?” she asked, preparing a breakfast of bacon and eggs, home fries and toast for Frieda. The thought of eating anything made her ill, though surprisingly, she easily tolerated the smells generated from her cooking. The fact it was destined for Frieda’s stomach and not hers made the difference, she guessed. She suffered morning sickness, most days.

Gudrun glanced up from the thick text on animal husbandry. As Rebecca’s official liaison to the village, Gudrun oversaw the curriculum at school, and the introduction of new technology. Holger assisted Gudrun during breaks in his duties as head building inspector. Rebecca had introduced Gerhard and the elder-council to advanced harvesting techniques last week, and storage of feed corn for the approaching winter months. Harvest for consumption by the village-folk usually occurred mid-September, but most of the harvest went for feed she was told. The discovery had startled Rebecca, accustomed to eating corn (and everything else), all year round.

“Gerhard tolerates you as he would an illegitimate granddaughter,” Gudrun said mildly. “He will tolerate Arma the same way.”

“Terrific,” Rebecca grumbled. “I’m growing on him, huh.”

The previous weekend--every weekend since publicly adopting Procurement’s replacement legs in July--Gerhard had guided a hunting party into the wild in search of wild boar, elk, mountain goat, and deer, still considered a delicacy to the villagers. He disdained fish, even when fresh-broiled off the returning ice-carts. Rebecca hadn’t broached the subject of firearms with anybody, not even Gudrun.

Some of the village buildings were wired for electricity now, including the elder’s lodge, the schoolhouse, Leda Gerhard’s residence, and Holger’s, half of which he had devoted to office and storage space. At Siri’s suggestion, Rebecca distributed high efficiency solar panels and electric lanterns to accompany hunting and expeditionary parties into the field, some lasting weeks. Gerhard explored every option when it came to fresh game and virgin territory. Gudrun spoke of rumors expanding the village north and setting up eastern outposts to better exploit the river. The official headcount had grown to 760 since June; barring any deaths, Arma would push the count of human souls on Earth to 761 in February.

Gudrun assured her: “It will be fine. All will be fine, Rebecca.”

“Sure, Mom.”

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From Rebecca’s private journal:

Wednesday, December 18, 3089, 7:18 p.m. “Today is the anniversary of sorts of meeting up with myself in my bedroom. I dare anyone to pop into my bedroom tonight. On other fronts: I a.m. SO FUCKING FAT!”

Thursday, December 25, 3089, 11:37 a.m. “Merry Christmas Mom and Dad and Maudie! It’s still December 18th there, at 10-something p.m., Siri assures me, so devastation hasn’t befallen you yet. I don’t get this temporal business at all, but Siri assures me that were I to step through the gate right now, it would be into my bedroom from whence I left. Did I tell you I’m gonna have a baby?”

Wednesday, January 1, 3090, 12:06 a.m. “HAPPY EFFING NEW YEARS EVERYONE! Everyone but me on the whole fucking planet is falling-down drunk!”

“Okay, so that’s an exaggeration. Frieda is asleep and presumably sober, and so are the village children. I refuse to feel bad about introducing the natives to whiskey. If anyone ever deserved Jack Daniels in the history of civilization, my poor natives did.”

Wednesday, January 1, 3090, 7:46 p.m. “OK, so introducing whiskey to the natives wasn’t such a brainy idea after all. What’s done, is done, though. Damn, Arma is kicking the crap out of me tonight. Did I tell you that Holger kissed me at the village party last night? Oo, La La. LOL. I refuse to feel guilty about that.”