Preface

We are divided. Very small, very young colony, and we are not all of the same mind. Who is the majority? Majority rules? You don’t know what you are talking about.

Our colony here at Hope Island has forty four members. Thirty eight are Hope Island natives, because they were born here. Two are space babies, born during interstellar flight. Four of us are Terran, because we were born on Earth. The thirty eight native Hope Islanders are less than four years old. Majority rules? Are you nuts?

The problem of division is more fauna versus flora than nativity.

Grapes are not indigenous to this planet nor were they intentionally transplanted or introduced here. Grapes were brought here from Trojan as fruit treats for a farewell party. Grapes have seeds inside.

These Trojan grapes are hybrids of Terran grapes and a vine from Trojan that can grow at very rapid speed. Some folks spat out the grape seeds. They took root very rapidly. Those fols who spat out the seeds are the fortunate ones. Those who swallowed the seeds, well those seeds also rapidly took root. In their guts.

When the embryos were born and later weened onto solid foods, one of the earliest foods given them were grapes from the volunteer arbors that developed from the spat out seeds. Many of the kids swallowed the seeds, which took root. In their guts.

Guess what? Four years after Starship MOM left to explore strange new words, our colony only has three humans left. Me, my space baby brother Rod, and our mom, Linda. My name is Brenda and I’m having an OOB experience. OOB stands for Out-Of-Body. That enables me to communicate over enormous distances.

I’m broadcasting this account over subspace thought transference, or telepathy if you prefer psychic terminology. Hopefully, MOM will come back and rescue us before it’s too late.

The majority is in command, as insane as that is, it’s true. They have a Terran mom in their group also, but she isn’t in command. Her Terran son John is. John is twelve, I’m eleven.

We are hiding. If we are captured, we will be forced fed grape seeds and in about eighteen months be hybrids like the rest.

Why should we fear four year old kids?

The vines have intertwined internally inside their bodies, reinforcing muscles, accelerating growth. You wouldn’t fare well against a seven foot tall, stringy muscled, hard as oak, four year old. Neither will I, so I avoid conflict by hiding in cryo=stasis. My brother Rod and our mom guard my stasis pod.

“Come in MOM, respond please! MAYDAY MAYDAY, calling MOM.”

Chapter 1 »