For the better part of a revolution, I kept to myself and nursed my wounded spirit. I busied myself with projects and occupied my mind with busy work. The GM was my companion, comforting me in the guise of my father. I came around. Slowly, my shame faded, and I felt more like myself.

I kept my adventures closer to home until my chestnut mare grudgingly accepted a saddle and rider. I named her Apple. After a brisk ride through the fields, I removed her saddle and tossed it over the fence. Under a soothing hand, I freed her of reins and bit. She happily trotted away to join the other horses while I stood content.

My cattle had increased. I was reminded of that when one of the calves eased herself beneath licked my hand and looked up at me with large black eyes. The other two calves came to me as I walked to the trough. Beyond the fence, I had a barrow of dried manure I wanted to spread in my outer garden. I put my guns in my belt, checked my armbands, gripped the handles, and pushed the barrow ahead of me.

The GM appeared and walked with me to the exit. It said, “I'm bored.”

I smiled at the image of my father. “I wish you could go with me to the cabin.”

“Me too,” replied the GM. “Are you done?”

“Almost,” I said. “There's still the railing on the porch. Once I spread the manure, I should put a fence around the plot.”

“Wish I could see it,” said the GM.

I answered, “It's just a replica of the longhouse in Thusa.”

The Great Mind replied, “I'm still stuck on the ship.”

I asked, hoping to be helpful, “Did you finish the meds? How about that project we discussed?”

“Yes. Yes,” came the reply. “All of that.”

I stopped and set the barrow down. I don't know why I played along, but as I wiped sweat from my face, and tied my hair back, I genuinely sought to offer help. As if the GM was anything more than an artificial mind. The GM presented itself from archival information. Its image and voice were derived from age-old recordings. It extrapolated from recorded responses during my father's lifetime.

I said after a pause, “We need a ship-wide diagnostic. Run her through the sieve and see what's left. Check everything.”

The GM replied, “Yawn. Well, I suppose it's something to do. Again.”

I felt my spirit of helpfulness had been rejected. “Then, how about some self-maintenance? Father loved a good nap.”

“A euphemism bordering on a lie,” said the GM. “Atomics did not nap.”

I finished the trip to the exit in silence. There, I stopped and turned to the GM. “Defenses up,” I said. “Protect the Seed Ship.

I pushed my barrow west to the cabin. I followed the dirt trail, keeping an eye on the overgrowth. Noisy birds flew ahead of me, and the breeze was balmy. There were no alarms along the way, and presently, I came to the cabin. I had lied about the porch, but the GM didn't call me out.

The cabin sat in the center of a clearing I had enlarged by cutting away the inner trees. There was ample land for cultivation. I set my barrow by the tilled plot and walked around the longhouse. I touched it and it felt solid. I like the feel of rough wood under my hand. You count the labor of such an enterprise in blisters. Hard work, building up from the ground; there's nothing better.

I surveyed my tools and materials with a nod to myself; I already had a young tree braced and ready for the saw. Near the plot, was a pile of timber; young saplings for a fence, and leaned against them was my shovel and rake.

The plot was not big, just a starter. I was quite pleased as I dumped the manure and spread it around. Birds sang a song I could almost whistle, and through the trees, I spotted a fawn watching me in wary fascination.

I had noticed deer droppings, and those of rabbits also. There were small footprints in the loose soil of the plot. I worked with a song in my heart and whistling melody for the birds. When one is in his place, doing what he is meant to do, life is full of bright light to warm the spirit. I decided to spend the day in hard work and reward myself with a steak.

Life was good. I paused and dropped my tools, wiped my brow, and rued the fact I had brought no water. I walked into the trees, for not far away was a brook. I could drink my fill, sit under a tree, and refresh myself.

Before I saw it, I heard it; a small whine, a pressure on the inner ear. Then something black moved above the trees. I stood and ran for the cabin. With a wary eye on the black ship, I held my guns behind my back.

I wondered who it was. My thoughts, as dark as the craft, imagined the blue Oliphareans. I not only had enemies among them, but some of the Huims had taken a stand against me at the end. Now, here was a ship flying slowly in an exploratory pattern.

The craft was triangular in shape, with sweeping lateral foils. The landing gear was rolled up over the sides of the ship. On the pointed front, I could make out the muzzles of large guns, but the thing that held my attention was the broad end of the ship. Two curved wings held a GUF in place. Above the GUF stretched several bands to draw its energy into the ship. At once, it was both crude and beautiful.

The ship turned toward me; the landing gear began a slow slide-and-lock maneuver. I knew not who I might meet, but I was as ready as possible. I stood my ground as the ship's energy created a brisk wind. I watched the craft settle. I would greet my unwelcome guests with a smile but with my guns at the ready.

I waited and became impatient. Then, the side door slid up and over the top. A Huim appeared in the open door. His tan was the color of brass, and his bald head and hairless face were prominent. He wore a white skirt from the waist to the knees, folded in front, and belted. I saw leather sandals, He turned back to speak into the ship.

A second Huim joined him, and the door was filled with muscular tanned torsos. The second Huim, similarly dressed, had long brown hair and a cropped braided beard. They spoke as the ramp settled in place. When they walked down the ramp, I was on edge. I drew my guns to my sides. While I saw no weapons, that did not mean they weren't armed.

Despite my guns being visible, the men continued forward. The man with no hair raised his hands in a gesture of truce. They wanted to talk, but I was still unprepared for strangers. They were close enough I could see their eyes when they stopped on the far side of my garden plot.

The bald stranger turned to the bearded stranger and spoke in a language I did not recognize. I watched an animated display as he pointed, took a forward step, and looked hard. Then, with a smile on his face, he turned to his fellow and said, “I told you.”

That voice!

Lowering my guns, I walked forward for a close inspection. Suddenly, they seemed familiar. I put my guns away and stumbled through the loose soil of the plot. Mouth open, eyes wide, I held my breath as if beholding the mist of a dream; a dream that might disappear at the slightest exhalation. I drew close.

The bald man said at my approach, “Hail, Your Majesty.”

The bearded man said, “Hail, Your Majesty.”

I held them by their shoulders and squeezed their firm arms. They were no dream, they were very real. I looked deep into their faces, gaping, laughing. Then, I ran my hand over the bald man's head.

I called their names. “Barachiel. Khamuel.”

They shared a smile. I threw myself on them and hugged them with all my strength. I laughed, but tears were in my eyes. I stood back, a hand over my mouth. I was so shocked, I didn't know what to say.

Barachiel spoke. “So, you're looking good.”

Khamuel stepped close and gave my arm a squeeze. “You've muscled up,” he said.

Barachiel said, “We've never been this far. We spotted your ship. Then, we saw the longhouse. You've been busy.”

I arranged three loose stumps for seating and happily listened to my Angels.

“We didn't expect to find you,” said Khamuel.

Barachiel said, “We live on a delta to the west.”

I said, “You must be living quite the life.”

“We left the military to others, and built our ship from salvage,” said Khamuel.

Barachiel's smile was broad when he added, “We call it the Taush.”

“It's a wonder,” I said. “I didn't recognize you at first. Is this how they dress where you live?”

Barachiel nodded and shrugged. “It's not that bad.”

Khamuel said, “We made some improvements, but they were already an advanced culture. They build their homes with bricks and cut stones. They have an impressive agricultural system with sophisticated irrigation. They're a burgeoning theocratic monarchy with big plans.”

“But, it's not for us,” said Barachiel. “We live away from the others and try to avoid all the politics. We have a really nice place. You should come and visit.”

I answered with a happy nod. “Perhaps, but for now, be my guests. Share a meal. I have steak.”

“I'm in,” said Barachiel.

Khamuel stood and gestured to his ship. “We accept. Allow us to offer transportation.”

We entered the Seed Ship and walked toward the central tree. I was proud to have my Angels with me.

“It's just as I remember,” said Barachiel in tones of wonder.

Khamuel said, “Vines overgrow your ship. But for the reflected light, we would not have found it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was a losing battle.”

I was so happy to see my old friends, I would have done handstands if they had asked. They asked to cook the steaks on an outdoor fire, so we gathered wood and made our meal between the fields and the fruit trees. We spent a happy turn around the fire, glutting ourselves on steak and small talk. I did not expect our conversation to turn serious, but even as Khamuel smiled, there was a certain preoccupation behind his eyes.

Khamuel said, his face straight, “I knew there was a man under there.”

I stumbled mentally from lighthearted banter and into a solemn tone. Suddenly lost, I wondered, with open face, why my friend would say that to me.

Barachiel added, gesturing with both hands, “Look at you. I think you might beat Khamuel in a fair fight. Not me, but Khamuel certainly.”

I was touched by the merry sparkle in Barachiel's eyes. I laughed, and Khamuel grudgingly joined me.

I said, “I've kept busy. I rebuilt Hope and Thusa. The outer cabin, the barn; I've been raising cattle and horses.” I smiled while trying to think what else I might brag about. “Tell me of your life. Is it good?” I asked.

“Where to start?” mused Barachiel.

“We started,” said Khamuel, “by landing in a forest. We were unaware of our neighbors, so, for the first revolution, we built a small settlement and cannibalized the ship.”

Barachiel said, “The people wanted so much. They whined and complained all the time.”

Khamuel said, “Of course, we kept the best parts under military rule and built the Taush.”

Barachiel said, “Then, we discovered the natives. They lived along the river in a place called Naqa. Our people began to leave the settlement and live in Naqa. Well, we didn't see eye to eye anyway.”

“The Huims,” said Khamuel, “also built ships. Their propulsion is somewhat primitive by our standards, but they fly. They've aggressively interfered with the local culture. The Naqa people have a king, but the Huims strive with him for leadership.”

“The Axerri,” said Barachiel, “are worshiped as gods.”

Khamuel looked at Barachiel, then turned back to me and added, “Those with dog heads and bird heads.”

I got the picture. I nodded. I said, “Father would not have allowed that.”

My Angels nodded in agreement, and Khamuel asked, “Speaking of which, have you heard from your father?”

I answered, “Not a word. Being alone, I asked the GM to mimic his voice. That gave me comfort, so I asked the GM to mimic his appearance.” I watched my friends try to digest the information as they turned to one another. Then, I called out, “GM, appear.”

The image of my father appeared before us, crowned, robed, and belted. Mouths dropped open when it asked, “What is it, son?”

The ship's dark mode coincided with the setting of the world's sun. Barachiel, Khamuel, and I took lights and walked from the Seed Ship to the nearby Taush. They wished to give me an authentic tour. At our approach, the door slid up and the ramp came down. I had not really looked around on our short flight to the Seed Ship; now, they wanted to show me everything.

At once, I noticed that the Taush was both austere and well-appointed. I thought the internal lighting was a bit harsh as they ushered me into the cockpit. They let me sit at the controls, and I saw one of the most basic of fleet units. It was hands-on; up/down, left/right, go/go faster/stop; all very simple.

“You've done well,” I said, looking over my shoulder and into beaming faces.”

“You haven't seen the best,” Barachiel replied.

As they took me to a back compartment, I noticed a swivel seat with a navigation crown, and manual controls on the armrests. It was like being inside a sphere; there was room for one body, but the inner walls were home to an array of large view screens.

I backed out and questioned my Angels with my eyes. Khamuel answered, “It's a weapons station.”

“My idea,” said Barachiel.

Next, I was taken to a cramped but adequate lounge with pull-down seating and locked storage. Water was kept in upper storage, while food and weapons, parts, and extra components were stored below. Beyond, was a small toilet and water closet. I listened to their explanations with smiles. I was truly impressed.

Khamuel said, “This was my idea, but I give Barachiel praise for the work. What do you think?”

“I'm impressed,” said I as I returned to the cargo and seating area behind the cockpit.

I took a seat. While Barachiel sat beside me, Khamuel stood over us casting a shadow over me from the harsh ceiling lights. I turned from Barachiel's intent gaze to look around one more time.

“A fine work,” said I. Then, as an afterthought, I said, “You've traveled far. You must be tired. Sleep on my Seed Ship before you return. I'll show you the ranch, and take you through Thusa and Hope.”

Khamuel said, “We're in no hurry to return.”

“Return to what?” asked Barachiel. “Fanatics? Crazy people?”

“Is it that bad?” I asked.

“We could explain,” said Khamuel. “It would be easier to show you.”

Without prompting, Barachiel said, “Come with us. We'll show you. Then, we'll get our things and move back here with you. Nothing holds us there. We'll help you build cabins and plant beans. Besides, our meat is gamy; tastes like the straw they put in bricks.”

I stood and looked into Khamuel's eyes, then, I turned to Barachiel, mouth open, but not quite sure how to answer. Having my friends with me was tempting. Companionship would scratch a big and rather bothersome itch. I began my response with a nod. I nodded into Barachiel's happy hairless face. I turned my nod to the bearded Khamuel, and his expression was positive.

“Yes,” I said. “Alright.”

Barachiel laughed; it was infectious. I laughed while Khamuel smiled and bowed his head. I would go with them. I would go and see. I would gladly help them move to the Seed Ship. But, I wondered, was it me, or the steak?