mundane chores. The point was, in the Federation, all these processes
were performed with the aid of mechanical or hi-tech equipment. If you
wanted hot water you tapped a line that came from one of the
geo-thermal plants; to prepare a hot meal you simply peeled the foil
lid off a pre-pak and put it in a micro-wave cooker. Sixty seconds
max. Dirty clothes you tossed into a unit at the block laundromat and
selected the correct wash-rinse 'n' dry cycle; any worn, torn or
damaged garments or kit you took down to the company quarter-master and
exchanged old for new.
But not out here. Out here, there was nothing on line and there
wasn't a serviceman in sight. Everything had to be figured out in
advance. Hot water needed a fire, a fire needed wood, the wood needed
to be cut from a tree, to cut it you needed a Tracker machete, an
Iron-Master axe or saw, and you had to know how to put a keen edge on
the blade. The only alternative was to go around picking up fallen
branches, dead wood that was usually rotten and powdery and which
burned quickly without producing any real heat.
In such an environment, you quickly came to realise the value of
ready-made objects. The grinding bowls that turned the golden seeds of
breadstalks into a powder which, when mixed with water and salt and
puddled onto a hot stone, produced crunchy flat-bakes, the pots and
pans, knives, machetes, fire-stones, a stoutly-sewn set of walking
skins, woven-straw hood-mats, Iron Master needles, binding twine and
thread were all precious possessions to be treasured and handed down to
the next generation. These, and the skills which fashioned and used
them, were the bedrock of existence and being aware of that gave you a
whole new perspective on things.
In the Federation, with its sanitised, regulated, wall-to-wall video
life-style, you were part of a world created by the First Family. But
it was not the real world. This was the real world; the world of the
Plainfolk. Out here, you were not a brain-washed cog in a soulless
machine, you were a living being, interacting with every living thing
around you. Not just the birds and the beasts and the bug-uglies, but
with the earth and the rocks, the grass and the trees, the wind and
water, the clouds scudding across the sky, softly melting snow-white
towers, blue-grey blankets heavy with rain, rosy-pink at dawn,
pearly-mauve in the evening, brushed with golden fire by the setting
sun, and then the night with its stars and moon which, for Roz, was
just as wondrous as the day.
Steve had experienced the same feeling of wonder, the same joyous
sensation of being truly alive - but he had been trained as a
soldier.
He was still enamoured by the gadgets and the hardware and the power
they conferred.
