Chapter 2: At Home on the Farm

Horti was in the dark fighting spiders and losing. Her husband was at her side, and her friends were behind her. She was in a fog, and she couldn’t feel her way. The spiders wanted to lay eggs in her. The eggs would turn into worms, forcing her to become a zombie.

The fog slowly cleared. She knew what to do but couldn’t progress; too many spiders were before her. It was futile. She was bone tired, and her friends had fallen. Who was she, and what did she have to do? Why was she letting everyone down after they had prepared her so well? She was failing, and there was no one to blame but herself.

Horti woke up late. She had an exam today. Her stomach rumbled. Horti felt hungry. She was so hungry her stomach was painful and knotted. Where was the damn muesli? If she didn’t eat, she would get a headache, and her stomach would twist and obstruct her bowel. Her stomach was big and bloated. What was the exam subject? Where was it? Her mind was foggy. Where was her slate? Her timetable was on it. Her backpack must be in her father’s car, and he wasn’t there. She went to the computer and tried ineffectively to switch it on. She panicked.

I must find the place, the time, and the subject. Check the power. She crawled under her desk. It was too dark to see if the switch was on, but she felt for the button. The wires were bare. Oh no! She felt a sickening jolt.

Horti sat up in bed, panting. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. The room was pitch black, but she knew it was nearly time to get up. Was she awake, or was it a dream in a dream?

In the distance, she heard her mother’s voice calling her to come home. The voice resonated as if she was calling her from the other side of a long metal pipe. She rubbed her eyes and scratched her face. Yes, she was awake. She pinched her leg to be sure. Ow!

Horti Maguire turned twenty-six on a glorious summer’s day in the Dinnion Regency in Vandaska, the capital city, while living underground on a farm where her parents and grandparents grew mushrooms.

The Dinnion Regency was reeling from an attempted takeover by insurgents. The turmoil unsettled the people, but they remained prideful, snobby, insular, and intolerant. Despite how they treated her, Horti had begun to get used to them and adapt to Dinnion society.

The Dinnion were convinced their short snouts were gorgeous and the Dinnion civilization was more advanced than others. Most refused to accept they would develop flat faces like the other humanoid ancients.

Craig, her husband-to-be, stretched out his hand and patted her side.

“Happy birthday, darling; why don’t you lie back, and I’ll make your day even better.”

“I am in a rush; it’ll have to be a quickie,” said Hortie. She shifted backward until she touched Craig.

Craig reached around her and fondled her breasts while kissing her behind her ear. He also blew warm air onto her neck. Horti felt herself becoming aroused. Craig shifted his hand further down and caressed her inner thigh. He avoided her vulva until Horti started pushing backward. He gently caressed adjacent to her clit on both sides, scooping moisture from her vagina. Craig moved slowly in and out, varying the pattern, and resumed grinding, alternating with going slow, then a few quick movements.

Horti lifted her leg, and Craig slowly inserted himself into her, moved his chest away, and ground slowly against her. Craig speeded up and shoved his chest back behind her and twisted her nipples, and then as he speeded up, now pounding into her, he pinched them and then rubbed rapidly on her clit. Horti came, and so did Craig a few moments later.

Craig reached for her again.

Horti darted out of his way and jumped out of bed. The lights switched on. She bustled into the refresher before returning to the bedroom, her hair still damp. She kissed Craig tenderly on the cheek, then dashed into the kitchen and returned to the bedroom. She handed Craig a cup of tea.

“I am late, and I must run to get a delivery from the depot for my grandparents. It is a package of spores and miscellaneous seeds they are testing. I promised to fetch it as soon as the office opens,” said Horti. “I woke late as I had some nasty nightmares. One was fighting spiders; the other was one of those exam dreams where nothing goes right, and you can’t find your pencil or your keys or whatever, and it’s the wrong day, and the timetable is screwed up.”

“Yeah, I know what it is like; I still get them. It’s your birthday. What’s the rush?”

“The depot is open, and I must get there. I promised everyone,” said Horti chewing on a dried fruit stick. “I must get some cereal; I am sick of this stuff.”

“That is ridiculous. Everything is open twenty-four hours a day. Who on Earth keeps office hours?”

“Sweetheart, we are not on Earth. You must ask who on Dinnio Prime keeps Earth office hours in Vendaska, the capital?”

“Come here, and I will ask you nicely and use the proper references,” said Craig laughing. “We’ve had the quickie, and we’re warmed up. How about a slow round or two?”

“I am not going to take that chance. You tired me out last night, and I know if I come anywhere near you, I won’t get going till lunchtime, and the place takes a siesta at 1 pm,” said Horti.

“That is incredible,” said Craig climbing out of bed. “I never realized anyone here would keep Spanish office hours and take a siesta. The climate might be like the Mediterranean, but a siesta, no!”

“I am taking no chances,” said Horti.

Craig laughed, “Horti, you are kidding me; I refuse to believe it!”

“I confess I may have misled you,” said Horti. “They start the siesta at 12:30, not 1:00 pm.”

“What time do they open again?” Craig asked.

“They open at 3:00 pm and go till 7:30 pm.”

“Amazing, maybe some of the people are like the mountain people, a lot of families who do what they shouldn’t do, and they are decidedly odd, odder than the usual Dinnion rigid eccentricity. We are in the country, and I should have expected something like this,” said Craig.

“Craig, you never know what to expect here. We are only eight km from the capital as the bat flies; it is hardly in the country. This is just how the people are!”

“Horti, do you want to play borm this afternoon?”

“Sure, I won’t be long. I’ll get the packages, drop them at my parents, have a cup of tea, and come home. I’ll pick up some real food from my mother. See you later. I am off to the portal.”

Horti strode out of the portal into a cavern filled with derelict fairground booths and rides. She recalled someone telling her the owners painted and rejuvenated the place once every fifty years for a regional fair. She felt gloomy every time she came this way. Everything was dusty and broken down. Several structures stood tall, almost to the roof of the enormous cave.

The depot, authorized to receive biological material, was at the back of the fairground for some inexplicable reason. She passed several broken down, shoddily made stalls. On the shelf of one was a broken doll with one eye and one arm broken and hanging from a thread.

She had an uneasy feeling someone or something was watching her. There was nothing behind her. She dodged between two walls and looked back. There was nothing and nobody.

The delivery depot was the most derelict building in the fairground. The front was twenty meters wide, but behind was a massive warehouse of seeds.

In the front, a lopsided archaic sign hung on two hooks. “Seed Delivery and Depot.” The door had an old-fashioned bell that rang as you opened the door. It would have been a curiosity even if it were on Earth. The whole place was a relic from the distant past.

Horti was reminded of the Dinnion version of a cow when she saw Marzine, the owner’s niece, chewing on something. She had brassy, bright orange hair, unusual for the Dinnion, and a pronounced snout. She didn’t look up as Horti approached her.

Horti stealthily stalked behind Marzine. “Hello, Marzine; how are you?” She shouted in her ear. Marzine jumped off her stool and glared at Horti.

“Hello, snout face, pretending you didn’t see me again,” said Horti smiling. “I am led to believe the store is open.”

Marzine looked carefully at her slate. “No, not for ten minutes; we are due to open at 9:30 today. Everybody around here knows that.”

“Everybody around here says you are the laziest, most useless sack of Dinnionkind. According to your uncle, you are supposed to be open 24 hours a day. Marzine, he will not be happy to hear about your slack office hours and siesta routine.”

“What is a siesta?”

“The time you steal from your uncle after lunch when screwing your boyfriend.”

Marzine blushed. “How do you know Horti? Who told you.”

“You just did you silly cow. We, primitives, can work things out. We may be slow, but we get there. This is the sixth time I’ve been to this dump. I’ve learned something or two since the first time,” said Horti. “Another thing Marzine, if you mess with my order again, I will drag you by your gene-dyed hair to our haunted farm and let the spirits of the dead tear out your insides. We, primitives, know how to handle the murderous spirits of the dead, and if you are not careful, I will guide them here to visit you one night.”

Marzine looked at Horti, her eyes wide. She jumped off the stool in the office and dashed into the store. She scanned the boxes and brought back Horti’s boxes.

“Horti, there is no need to get yourself all bitter and twisted. I was joking with you,” said Marzine looking down at the floor and fidgeting.

“I come here to get seeds, not for a comedy act. You don’t want to see me when I get angry, Marzine.”

“I am sorry, Horti. Please don’t tell my uncle. He said I have run out of chances. This is the best job I have ever had.”

Marzine packed the boxes into a carry bag and handed them to Horti.

“Well, have a good day, Marzine; I’ll see you around the place sometime,” said Horti cheerfully. “Now, you be careful!”

Horti grabbed the bag and turned to leave the depot.

Marzine looked after Horti fearfully.

Horti popped her head back in, “Where is your uncle’s store, AI?”

Marzine’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth.

“You know the one that is supposed to ensure the depot is open 24 hours a day? Oh no, don’t tell me you sold it! What will your uncle think about that?” Horti asked.

“Please, Horti, don’t tell him. You will get the best service in this area. Just ask, and I will do it!”

“How was the dreaded Marzine today?” Vivian, her mother, asked.

“I got advice and some useful information from one of the other farmers at the market last week. She told me how to handle Marzine,” said Horti, “and it worked like a charm. I have Marzine on the back foot and suitably terrified.”

Vivian grinned. “Marzine is a useless waste of space.”

Horti nodded, then picked up her mug and dunked her rusk. “Are these South African rusks?”

“Yes and no; Robert is making them on Porquenta under license. He discovered them recently but could not duplicate them to his high standards, so he decided to license them. They are as addictive as they ever were,” said Vivian, “have another one.”

Horti reached forward and pulled a rusk out of the packet. She dunked it as before into her mug and quickly put it in her mouth. Tea dribbled down her chin. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand.

“Mum, it is strange how this area looks so much like home. It is hardly different from our country towns. The farms use AIs and advanced equipment, but the farmhouses and people are no different from back home. Marzine is the worst example of an idle country hick. She has nothing to be a snob about, but she acts like ‘Lady Muck.’ She treated me like a peasant and an idiot up until today.”

Horti carefully fished a soggy piece of her rusk from her tea with a teaspoon and placed the spoon in her mouth. “The seeds and spores are on the table in the shed. I have time for another quick mug of tea, and then I am off to play borm with Craig.”

“What are the people like at the club?”

“The people at the club have got used to us, and things are even better since the influx of the Uzliumbax. The Dinnion are slowly warming to us. The Uzliumbax are friendly, informal, and outgoing and love playing borm. They are loosening up the Dinnion fast. There are a lot of bugs around, and they are also helping a lot.”

Horti pulled out another rusk from the packet and dipped it carefully into her milky tea.

“This is an excellent tea. I like it. I wonder if the Dinnion would like tea?” Horti wondered.

“I started a small import-export company and am supplying teas to Lauren’s restaurants. This is the same one we had at home.”

“Excellent idea, Mum. We must all have an irresistible entrepreneurial gene!”

“Yes, isn’t it fun,” said Vivian, “The great part about it all is we are here early, and the markets are enormous.”

“I never thought you and Dad would get into farming. I saw him busy with a mass of pipes. What is he doing?”

We are growing udder tissues and lining tubes to produce milk.”

“How is it going?” Horti asked.

“We are almost there. The Dinnion uses the technique to produce many unique biological products.”

“How is your first magic reactor going, Horti?”

“The factories of the Gromelix Dragons are now prepared to commence production. The dragons have almost finished building the test reactor. We will start evaluating the output next week. It can power Gromelikine.”

“Will anyone buy it?” Vivian asked.

“The lawyer tells me the demand is enormous. The Gromelix intend to lead the Empire and build the first city using Level Three power in this universe. They will use my reactors. They are also making a new generation of electronic chips and modular components I designed and prototyped. The dragons catch on fast and move ahead faster than I expected. Their goal is to surpass the competition in this market by making significant advancements, similar to how the Emperor found a way to advance in the mini-universe.”

“Horti, I thought you were partnering with Philippa?”

“Mum, I am. Philippa is investing massively in the project and educating the bugs as quickly as possible. Like most of the Empire, the bugs are learning to use magic. As you know, the dragons are way ahead of everyone other than the Uzliumbax, who moved to our universe recently from Norbut 19, and the Uzliumbax in the mini-universe. Philippa has sent thousands of bugs to Gromelikine to learn to use magic from the dragons and then will work with the Gromelix. The bugs agreed to go to Gromelikine and stay there for ten years,” said Horti. “The Gromelix are short of labor, and the bugs work part-time and learn to use and manipulate magic.”

“Horti, how do the bugs feel about that?” Vivian asked.

“The bugs are happy to do it. Ten years is nothing for them. The bugs are fun and easygoing compared to the Dinnion and welcome new challenges. I would be happy to study in the Collective and spend time with the bugs,” said Horti.

“Isn’t the bug culture very different from ours?” Vivian asked.

“Bug culture is much simpler than humanoid culture. They work most of the time. They don’t read anything non-technical. The bugs are much less selfish than we are, and the group’s well-being is paramount. They watch the holo-news, but until the Emperor spent time with them, they had no interest in leisure or holidays. They are adopting the culture of the Empire,” said Horti. “We saw bug tourists everywhere on Earth. They are also direct and mostly honest. It would be best to watch out for fleas; they are deceptive traders.”