{"id":645,"date":"2011-11-02T12:43:52","date_gmt":"2011-11-02T16:43:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/?p=645"},"modified":"2011-11-08T17:40:43","modified_gmt":"2011-11-08T22:40:43","slug":"all-that-is-gold-does-not-glitter-part-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/2011\/11\/all-that-is-gold-does-not-glitter-part-1.html\/","title":{"rendered":"All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter – Part 1"},"content":{"rendered":"

Inspired by John Michael Greer’s challenge<\/a> to write a future history short story free of Alien Space Bats.<\/p>\n

\n

(Part 1. A work in progress…)<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cGoddammit!\u201d
\nThe curse reached Doug a half-second before the smell of ozone did. \u00a0\u201cWhat now, Dad?\u201d he asked, looking up from the strap he had been tightening to fasten the logs on the flatbed to the radio shed.
\n\u201cPower supply. \u00a0We\u2019re off the air. \u00a0Looks like we\u2019re done bonding for the day.\u201d
\nDoug sighed. \u00a0Logs had to be RFID-tagged, and crypto-bonded with a secure electronic signature provided by the Timber Exchange if you wanted to sell to the Japanese, most of Europe, or the Manchurians, and those were the buyers who paid best. \u00a0His family was one of the few in West Yooper with the equipment to do it, so they had steady work bonding logs from other foresters in the State lands and taking a cut of the bonding premium after delivery. \u00a0But, the Exchange depended on real-time bandwidth to generate the signatures — and without their radio tower, they were cut off from the Mesh.
\n\u201cWhat now, Dad?\u201d \u00a0Hopefully not cleaning the stables…
\n\u201cGot to have a working power supply. \u00a0If we don\u2019t get back in operation soon, the backlog will be a bitch, eh?\u201d \u00a0He rubbed his chin. \u00a0\u201cNothing to do but take a look at it back at the shop and see if there\u2019s any hope of repairing it. \u00a0At least we\u2019ve got a full load on the flatbed.\u201d
\nThey disconnected the power supply from the radio gear and stowed it under the truck\u2019s bench.. \u00a0\u201cYou think Grandpa can fix it?\u201d, Doug asked as they started back towards the farmhouse.
\n\u201cMaybe. \u00a0It\u2019s pretty fried. \u00a0I swear this Brazilian crap gets cheaper every year. \u00a0Depends what else when wrong when the caps blew, soo desu? \u00a0But it\u2019s worth a try.\u201d
\n\u201cWe could just pick up a new one in Bessemer.\u201d
\nDoug\u2019s father fixed him with a cold stare. \u00a0\u201cWhat part of \u2018not one penny to Cheesehead taxes\u2019 was unclear, son?\u201d
\nDoug shifted uncomfortably in his seat. \u00a0Bessemer was across the border with Wisconsin, but had decades ago been Yooper territory. \u00a0It was old history to Doug, but some old-timers were still upset about loosing the Gogebic county to Wisconsin (or the \u201cPeople\u2019s Republic of Madison\u201d they sometimes called it, for reasons Doug had never understood). \u00a0It had been a small war, compared to the terrible destruction that had engulfed the former United States and much of the rest of the world in the first part of the 21st century — really, not much more than a few drones, some technicals driving around and snipers in the woods. \u00a0But it had been enough for casualties on both sides. \u00a0His great-uncle\u2019s family had all died in the burning of White Pine.
\nHis father\u2019s face softened, and had a hint of a smirk. \u00a0\u201cBesides, you wouldn\u2019t have time to look up that cute little redhead from the music festival anyway.\u201d \u00a0Doug blushed hard; he did have an ulterior motive for suggesting Bessemer, but that hadn\u2019t been it. \u00a0Her name had been Heather, and they had met at the Porkies music festival and dance. \u00a0He blushed a bit harder, remembering, and hoped his father did not know what had gone on behind the dance hall…
\n\u201cIf I can\u2019t work some magic on it, you can take this piece-of-paska power supply to your Grandfather in \u2018Nagon. \u00a0If there\u2019s anyone in the county who can revive it, it\u2019ll be him. \u00a0If he can\u2019t, Houghton should have a replacement.\u201d
\nThat was enough to interrupt Doug\u2019s memory of Heather dancing. \u00a0Houghton would be even better than Bessemer for his plan, if he could get some time to himself. \u00a0\u201cDidn\u2019t think you\u2019d want to leave home for so long, with mom so close.\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t, not even with Meg handy as a midwife. \u00a0So that\u2019s why you\u2019re going to go. \u00a0I know you\u2019re not as baby-crazy as your sisters.\u201d
\nIt was true. \u00a0Doug was convinced that every baby sucked some extra brain cells from his sisters, who would go nuts cooing and cuddling and fussing over the new one. \u00a0Sure, they were cute once they got past the wrinkled lizard stage, and eventually they got to be fun to play with, but the appeal of an newborn was lost on him. \u00a0\u201cBy myself?\u201d
\n\u201cWhy not? \u00a0You\u2019re fifteen now, and responsible enough. \u00a0I think you can handle it. \u00a0Is there some reason you shouldn’t?\u201d
\n\u201cNo sir!\u201d
\n\u201cThought so. \u00a0Well, here we are. \u00a0Get the gate, will you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Doug hopped out, unlatched the gate, and swung it open. \u00a0The big old diesel rumbled through, and Doug shut them in. \u00a0The \u2018Welcome To Twin Springs\u2019 sign was peeling, and he vaguely wondered why no one had repainted it. \u00a0There must be some child or wrinkle who wasn\u2019t good for heavy work but could be trusted with a steady hand and a paintbrush… but he wasn\u2019t going to bring it up in case it was mistaken for volunteering. \u00a0Dad had a habit of misinterpreting simple observations that way. \u00a0The hedge enclosing their little hamlet was looking ragged too, but pruning the thorny mess would come later in the fall.
\nHe heard the piercing cry \u201cDougiiiie!\u201d a split second before a flying tackle almost knocked him off-balance. \u00a0Staggering a half-step back, he reached down to grab the small figure now hanging from his waist and lift her upside-down. \u00a0\u201cJessiiiie! \u00a0That\u2019s completely unfair, sneaking up behind me like that.\u201d
\n\u201cI did not sneak,\u201d Jessica said, with wounded five-year-old dignity. \u00a0\u201cI was right here when Dad drove in. \u00a0You just weren\u2019t paying attention.\u201d
\n\u201cOh, fine. \u00a0I guess I don\u2019t have to dangle you \u2018till your brains fall out, then.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019d tell Mom!\u201d
\n\u201cNot with your brains fallen out, you wouldn\u2019t.\u201d
\n\u201cYou\u2019re mean.\u201d
\n\u201cMeanest big brother in the whole wide world.\u201d
\nShe stuck her tongue out at him, and Doug carefully set her back on the ground. \u00a0\u201cI hafta get eggs now. \u00a0Bye!\u201d \u00a0Jessica ran away, towards the cluster of buildings that were their farmstead, pigtails and bare feet flying.
\nDoug walked after her at a slower pace, making a stop at the horse barn to check on water and feed. \u00a0As he passed by the shop, he could hear his father\u2019s voice on the phone: \u201c… nope, both of the caps on that side are fried. \u00a0One doesn\u2019t look it, but it\u2019s still not holding a charge…. OK, I\u2019ll send it tomorrow with Doug. \u00a0Thanks, Dad.\u201d
\nDoug poked his head inside the shop door. \u00a0\u201cI heard you talking with Grandpa. \u00a0So, I\u2019m going for real?\u201d
\nHis dad sighed. \u00a0\u201cYes, for real. \u00a0You can hitch up Jim and Jerry in the morning and take the two-seater.\u201d<\/p>\n

(To be continued in Part 2<\/a>…)<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Inspired by John Michael Greer’s challenge to write a future history short story free of Alien Space Bats. (Part 1. A work in progress…) \u201cGoddammit!\u201d The curse reached Doug a half-second before the smell of ozone did. \u00a0\u201cWhat now, Dad?\u201d he asked, looking up from the strap he had been tightening to fasten the logs […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[47],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-645","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p2sZgq-ap","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/645","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=645"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/645\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":662,"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/645\/revisions\/662"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=645"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=645"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.znfrey.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=645"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}