The star seared the land demanding life in return. Life obeyed, reaching up to distant fire, drawn by the intense will of a relentless sun. I sat astride my white stallion, Cloud, surveying the dark and humid woods. My senses reached beyond the noisy insects and flitting birds. Surprises were not welcome, especially the four-legged snarling variety.

Cloud was solid between my legs; all muscle and sinew. He shook his head with a light snort, tossing his mane. He stood his ground, letting me know we could enter the trees. For reassurance, I adjusted the guns in my belt. I made sure my stasis pen and mining wand were accessible. I was as prepared as I could be. I made a soft clicking noise, and Cloud moved forward, the reed cages rattling on Cloud's rump as I entered the forest to set traps.

The heat caused sweat, but I tried not to think of its ticklish descent down my bare back. Plants were not the sole recipient of the star's desire. It drew from me as well. Neither was I less solid than my mount. Hard work made a hard man. I was stronger than ever. My hands were calloused. Countless rotations made me tough, and the enduring star made me brown. As I entered the shadow of the trees, a cool breeze chilled my back and tossed my long hair.

Now, you may ask why I continue my story. Why not end it upon reaching the new planet? Many reasons. I was no longer the timid bean farmer I used to be. Neither was I the King whose only success was in the loyal efforts of his subjects. I was not the terrified soul who brought so few to the seed world. I had enough of my father in me to make it that far, but I had not heard my father's voice for a full revolution. A soul marooned was I; a soul at odds with a strange new world.

The glade well behind me, I called Cloud to a stop and slid from his back. I took traps, twine, and mallet, quickly setting the cages. Beyond the glade, in the sparse trees close to the ship, my filled traps hung in high branches away from predators. A travois awaited my return to help me drag my bounty home. I stopped to listen. I turned in a circle, my senses alert. Cloud nuzzled my hair as if to say, let's go.

We crossed the glade, slow and deliberate. The high grass and fragrant flowers, while not an obstacle, were still a distraction. Predators could stalk in the tall cattails along the creek we crossed, but a part of me watched the colorful birds and quick insects. I'd take another turn getting to the sparse trees. I'd gather my cages, and drag them to the Seed Ship. Judging by the sun, it was the middle of the rotation. I was thirsty, I was hot, but I would wait til the end to wash and refresh myself.

As we reached the cages hung high in the trees, Cloud snorted and danced to the side. I pulled a gun for each hand. I jumped from Cloud's back and turned in a slow circle, straining my senses, arms outstretched. The scent of a bear came to my nostrils. I saw three of my cages destroyed, the small animals missing. I saw large prints in the soil, and deep scratches in the tree bark. Cloud calmed, and I replaced one of the guns.

I spoke softly to Cloud. “Easy, boy,” said I.

I was so happy to have full traps, now, I was angry at my loss, but I still had two cages high up. The small bird sat still in her cage while a feral cat gnawed at its captivity. I attached the travois to Cloud and secured the animals to it. I walked Cloud forward and listened as the travois scuffed the earth. Being among the trees gave scant relief from the humidity, but I was content to be in shadow. I would soon be home. I would find a place for my new animals, groom and feed Cloud, then see to my needs.

There was still work to do on the cabin west of the ship. It was nearly done, a place to put Odum and Ava when roused. I might pack some food and water and stay busy for a turn or two. The ship came into view offering a wary relief. I took my chances going out; my weapons never really eased my spirit. If I fell in the woods, who would save me?

I stood in the door peering into the dark room Bermesh once lived in. My intent was to convert it back into a cooling unit to store the blood taking up space in the seed bank. I had finished grooming and feeding Cloud. I had worked on the cabin west of the ship. Returning early, I washed, ate, and changed into clean work pants. I had spent myself but found neither satisfaction nor solace. I was still angry about my loss.

I waved on the floating lights and stepped in. There was a pile in the middle of the floor; I had simply dumped what I needed and left. Now, I surveyed the various items and equipment; my tools were by the back wall. The job was simple; attach and switch on. Yet, I stared into the middle distance, into the heat of my anger.

Since my landing, the GM was my sole companion. I often spoke to it as if it was a person. Just as often, I was taken aback by the Great Mind's neutral voice. The tubes went into the open vents, and the clamps were tightened from left to right. I spoke to the GM.

“So,” said I. “I had a weasel creature and a groundhog. I had a bird and a cat and something yet to be classified.”

“You had greater success,” said the GM with no emotion.

“I thought so,” said I. I secured more tubing. “A bear got everything but the bird and cat.” I hit the wall with my wrench. “Damn.” My anger finally spilled out.

The GM replied, “The bear is a problem.”

I calmed and answered, “Agreed. I should kill it.” I turned away from my work. “But, I'm no good at tracking. I know the prints, I know the smell, that's it. Should I stand in the woods until it finds me?"

Its voice calmly stoic, the GM answered, “Set a trap. Use a wounded animal to lure the bear while you wait in hiding.”

“I will not give it another animal,” I said.

The GM said, “Use blood from storage.”

I said, turning back to my work, “I like that better.”

The GM said, “You'll need camouflage.”

I asked, “Do you think my weapons can deal with such a big beast? Judging by the prints, it must be really big.”

The GM answered, “A larger animal requires a larger weapon.”

I reached for more tubing. “Then, I have a problem,” said I.

The GM said, “With time and materials, you could manufacture a larger weapon.”

I stopped and thought about it. The effort it would take just to knock up the machinery to manufacture something was off-putting. I remembered ships with the capability to produce atomic items, but the Seed Ship was never one of them. I attached three lengths of tubing while I thought.

“No,” I said. “I need to work with what I have. I could set a snare, but who knows how strong the thing is. Or, maybe, I could dig a pit, embed stakes, and lure it in, but if it falls and doesn't die, that will only make it mad.”

The GM said in a calm voice, “Without the proper input, there is little I can do to help.”

Suddenly tired, I dropped the wrench. “This bear,” said I, “vexes me.”

The GM suggested, “You could leap from hiding and use the mining wand.”

I slept and rose early; I had a cow to process. My store of meat was low. I would not use my stored blood for that, I would put new blood into the GUF; the cart was already in place. It would be a hard job, but I was an old hand. The problem was getting the cart to the lift. Dirt and grass were not the ideal medium, but once in the hallway below, my task would be easy.

Cloud was glad to see me; I gave him a treat. The other horses wanted attention as well. I think I cared more for my horses than I did for myself. I emptied my water buckets into the trough and set out straw. After I fed and watered five cows and a calf, I led the oldest to the cart. Once lined up with the cart, I apologized and touched her with the pen. She fell hard, then I drove a wedge into the spine just behind her head. She felt nothing.

I fed the bull in the barn, then turned my attention to the cart. It took a turn of hard work to lift the cow's legs and secure them with rope. Next, came the difficult trek to the lift. Pushing a cow on a metal cart is no easy task. By the time I reached the lift, I was breathing heavy. I took a well-deserved rest when I got there. The hall below was dim and cool; a straight shot to the GUF. As I rolled the cart, I could hear the strain on the wheels and knew I would soon be in the dump looking for spares.

The hoist groaned as it lifted the cow from the cart. It was simple enough but infuriatingly slow. The body had to be positioned over the cof, and because father's GUF was larger than the original, room between the GUF and the wall was tight. I called a pause to free the front hooves.

“There,” I said to the GM. “Up.”

The body raised slowly from the cart and I readied myself to push the cart away. The cow's head lifted from the cart, but turned, pushing the cart against my leg. Because of my miscalculation, the body swung away then back, slamming me into the wall. I cried out and the operation ceased.

I swore. I slammed the cart against the wall in my anger, but a moment and a deep breath got me past my dark mood. I said to the GM, “Continue.”

Once I maneuvered the cow's head over the cof, I pulled up the carotid catheter and made the insertion. My leg throbbed, but I  dismissed it. I focused on the blood; it was absorbed on contact. I was more careful returning the cow to the cart. I rolled it back down the hall to processing. There, I had to back out and remove skins and racks to make room.

The processor was a table with a cover. Once closed, its internal machinery made quick work of the body. I flushed the ejected bowels and hooves to the buckets for transport to the cof. I received the skin and tossed it aside. I tapped on room circulation and opened the cooler and freezer. The meat was sectioned so my lifting was minimal. I soon had the meat stored and the processor rinsed. I took the bowels and hooves to the cof and called the job done.

I said to the GM, “That being done, I think I'm due a steak.”

The GM said, “Your leg is bruised. Shall I treat it?”

I responded, “You don't sound sad.”

The GM replied, “I am not sad.”

I said, “We need to work on your vocal inflection.”

“As you wish,” said the GM.

I looked at my bloody clothes. I found the smell of blood sickly sweet. I finished cleaning and went to my quarters. I washed and changed. I prepared and enjoyed a steak cooked well. Then, I sat at my table weighing what I would do to avoid laziness. I recalled Nimrod's tree.

I opened Nimrod's tree and loosened the bolts that held the headrest in place. I removed the back of the headrest and disconnected the leads. Next would be the topmost section of the body housing, then the lower seat and leg rests. I was after the atomic manipulator, a torus with eight leads in front and nine leads on the reverse.

I asked the GM, “If I provide you with enough A. Ms., can you devise a housing?”

The GM asked, “What do you have in mind?”

I answered, “I want to build a device to create atomic parts for a large bear-killing gun.”

The GM calmly informed me, “You will need five atomic manipulators in a parallel circuit, two in backup, and an atomic printer.”

I threw the top body housing back into the tree and swore loudly. “Damn!”

Aside from Nimrod's tree, there were four lying against the wall near the barn. That was five A. Ms. There were two in the tree housing Odum and Ava, but I could not use them until the progressions had resolved. As for an atomic printer, chances were slim I would find one in the dump.

I sat in the grass and complained sarcastically, “Thanks a lot.”

The GM replied, “You're welcome.”

“GM,” I said. “While we're on the topic of you being highly irritating, let me ask you a question.”

“Please,” prompted the Great Mind.

I took the headrest into idle hands and asked, “Can you imitate the voice of the late King? My father's manner and inflections?”

“I can,” answered the GM.

I was glad to hear it and wondered why I had not thought of it sooner. I said, “That will be your new voice. Whenever you speak, it will be in the voice of my father.”

The GM responded, “Son, I'll give you this one. Don't worry about a bigger gun. Technique beats gadgetry hands down.”

I had to confess, hearing my father's voice made me gape. It was scary amazing. I jumped to my feet. “You sound just like him,” I said.

The GM replied, “Well, you asked for me. Here I am.”

I laughed. I laughed hard and found it hard to stop. I laughed from sheer joy. I had not heard my father for so long I languished, but, hearing the GM imitate father's voice made me feel instantly stronger. It was not father, but it was the next best thing.

I turned in a happy circle staring wide-eyed into thin air. “Say something,” I said.

The GM answered, “Don't just stand there. Put the tree back together, and let's hammer out a plan for your problem.”

At the moment, my mind was on anything but the bear. What the problem was evaded me so that my mouth once again fell open. I stood still and stared straight ahead of me, mind spinning without traction.

“The bear,” said the Great Mind in my father's voice.

“Right,” I replied.

“So,” said the GM. “First the tree. Never leave work undone. Loose ends are a tripping hazard. While you work, I'll tell you about the bears back home.”

Under the supervision of the GM, I practiced father's lightning power until my hands hurt. The power of lightning scared me; it seemed so violent. At my complaint, we abandoned it. I was back at the GUF. Plans spun wildly in my head. I was back at square one without a square. 

The GM copied my father's voice and mannerisms, but the GM was not my father. Father always had the answer. I looked into the swirling mists of the GUF and wished my father would come back to me. I leaned against the bench and closed my eyes. I saw the mists of the GUF on the backside of my eyelids. It was a part of me, or so it seemed; a part just out of reach. I needed a new direction, perhaps north into the hills.

Father's voice came gently. “Get some rest.”

I yawned and said, “I need a plan.”

The GM said, “Sleep on it, son.”

“The stasis pen seems my best bet,” said I. “The problem is, how do I get close enough to use it? Should I just stand back and throw it at the bear?”

The GM answered, “There is time and a clear mind on the other side of a nap. Don't make me sing lullabies.”

I smiled, remembering when father said that to a younger me. The GM was working from archives. My father's memories were stored in the Great Mind. In a sense, the Great Mind was a copy of the King.

I opened my eyes and sat forward to rub my neck. “Guess I'll sleep now,” said I.

The GM laughed like my father. I struggled to my feet and sat on the bench. “What's that about?” I asked.

The GM said, “Son, you slept on the floor for seven turns.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

Father's voice answered, “Seriously. Wash and eat; you've work to do. The bear won't kill itself.”

“The bear,” I said. “I still don't have a plan.”

The GM asked, “Do you remember how you beat your brother?”

My eyes were wide as I came to my feet. “You're right,” I said.