Hundred

By johnnedwill

Steven turned his back on the funeral party. It was not out of lack of respect. He had known Martin for almost a hundred turns - the equivalent of thirty-five years on Earth. It was just that as mayor of the Teegarden-b implant colony, Steven had other duties to attend to. He made his way out of the funeral orchard, through the rows of sickly trees. It was a commonly-held belief that there were a thousand trees in the funeral orchard: one for every colonist who had died on Teegarden-b. Finding out exactly how many trees there actually were would have been a trivial task, but there were more important things to occupy the current generation of colonists.

The funeral orchard marked the southern boundary of the implant colony. Beyond it lay the rest of the planet. In earlier times explorers had gone out into the unknown, bringing back data for maps and specimens for the science team to examine. But, as the colony had shrunk, the colonists horizons had shrunk with it. Now nobody went beyond the Sign. There was no point.

It took Steven no more than ten minutes to walk to the Sign, even with stopping to collect a pot of black paint, a brush and a scraper. The paint was old, possibly some of the last paint made if the printed date on the pot were correct. It was kept for special occasions, like births. And deaths.

The Sign had been erected when the colony had been founded: possibly as some obscure joke; possibly as a way of instilling pride in the colony. It was made from two metal posts that had been hammered into the black soil, with a metal sheet riveted in place between them. The posts were battered and covered in dents, as was the sheet. Together they had withstood the Teegarden-b weather for over a hundred years. On the Sign somebody had painted the name of the colony, 'Implant Colony Teegarden - Landfall', along with the date of the colony's founding and its population.

Steven crouched down in front of the Sign and scraped away the last digit of the population, then began to paint a new number in its place. It only took him a minute to finish the job. Now the sign read 'Implant Colony Teegarden - Landfall Founded 2190AD Population 98'. Steven stood back to admire his handiwork.

"Here. You missed out."

Steven glanced up to see Anya leaning over the top of the Sign. Anya was the colony doctor - or as close as the inhabitants of Landfall came to having one. If anyone fell ill or suffered an injury, then she was the one they came to. In her hand she was holding an apple from the orchard. The skin of the apple was a pale green streaked with brown. The leaves on the stem were stunted and misshapen. Both of these were symptomatic of the phosphorus deficiency that plagued the colony.

"Thank you." Steven reached out and took the apple from Anya. Their fingers briefly touched - a moment of human contact.

"Can I walk back with you?"

Steven glanced over his shoulder, towards the wall of fronded plants that were the native vegetation of Teegarden-b. An overgrown dirt trail wound its way into the thickets, only to be lost to sight. "Of course." He picked up the paint pot. "I could do with the company."

The pair started to walk back towards the colony.

"How many of us are left now?" Anya asked.

"Ninety-eight."

Anya thought about this for a moment. "That's not good, is it?"

"No." Steven halted. "No. It's been the worst year that I can remember. Possibly since the colony was founded." He took the apple and bit into it. The sweet taste of its juice was spoilt by a rancid bitterness.

"Do you think we're going - ."

"No!" Steven snapped. Anya recoiled as if she had just been slapped. "Don't say things like that!" He fought to bring his temper under control. "We're just going through a bad patch. That's all." He glanced towards the orchard.

Anya turned to look as well. The funeral party was just emerging from the rows of trees. They were silent, lost in their own thoughts. "I understand," she said quietly, then went to join the cortege.

By the time Steven had cleaned the paintbrush and returned the paint and tools to the colony's stores, night had begun to fall. The evening breeze brought with it the gingery scent of the native flora and the ululating calls of the creatures that lived among them. He hurried back to his quarters, keeping his coat close to ward off the nighttime chill. While most of the inhabitants of Landfall lived in the remains of the original prefabricated buildings, augmented with whatever modifications and repairs had been made over the decades, Steven as mayor had the privilege of living in the dropship that had brought the implant colony. Originally this had been to allow the colonists' leaders access to the databases and expert systems meant to support them. However, these systems had not worked in a long time - certainly not within Steven's memory.

Like his predecessors, he now had to rely on the colony's archives. When it had come obvious that the various systems supporting the development of the colony were beginning to fail and were unlikely to be repaired or replaced, the leaders of the colony had begun the laborious task of transferring as much information as possible to a form that would last. The interior of Steven's cabin was lined with shelves, each one stacked with hardbound volumes. Within these books were the history of Landfall - the events, the births, the deaths. Steven had added to these as part of his duties. On the fold-out table that clung to a bulkhead was a sheaf of papers, a reed pen and a clay cup that served as an inkwell.

Steven sat down on his bunk. He put the rains of his apple on the table and pulled the sheaf of paper towards him. The paper was rough and fibrous, but it served well enough to hold ink. He dipped the reed pen into the inkwell and began to write:

Today we lost another soul: Martin. Dead of heart failure at the age of 100 turns. It was sad to see him go. We had grown up together and

He stopped, overwhelmed by the emotions he felt. In a colony the size of Landfall it was impossible not to know everybody, not to feel some connection with them. The loss of even one person would be keenly felt - moreso by some than others. And death in the implant colony was common.

The early settlers had suffered losses due to unfamiliarity with their new world. But, as the colony became more established, they had started to suffer from the effects of various metabolic disorders ranging from brittle bones to neural degeneration. When the first generation of children were born, they showed signs of congenital deficiencies. With new evidence, the cause was obvious. Teegarden-b was deficient in phosphorus; not enough to render life impossible, but enough to shorten it significantly. The colonists had tried to supplement the minerals in the local soil; but as people died and took their knowledge with them, they had turned to other means. Eventually they had decided on using the sources of phosphorus that were easiest to recover: that held in the their own bodies. The colonists had learned to recycle their own waste for the precious element and, when they died, had their bodies placed in the funeral orchard. Even in death, the colonists of Teegarden-b still performed a useful service for the community.

Exhausted by the events of the day, Steven laid his head on the table and fell into a dreamless sleep.

A sudden banging noise woke Steven. He struggled to sit up. "Hang on!" he called out as the knocking on his cabin door intensified. "What is it?"

"It's Anya! We need one of the books! The midwives' manual!"

The urgent tone of Anya's voice, if not the meaning of her words, sank into Steven's blossoming consciousness. He hauled himself to his feet, staggered towards the bulkhead door and pulled it open. "The midwives' manual?" he croaked.

Anya pushed him aside and hurled herself into room. "Yes. It's Peg." She began to hunt through the rows of books on the shelves. "She's gone into labour - but something's wrong!"

Steven turned to face her, the news burning through the remaining fog of fatigue. "What's happened?"

"I'm not sure. The baby's coming out wrong. I've never seen anything like this before." Anya looked back over her shoulders, her eyes wide in fear. "I'm worried."

Steven reached over her shoulder and pulled out a loosely-bound volume. The fibrous reinforcements along the spine of the book were a sign of how much use it had seen. "Here." With a gasp of relief, Anya grabbed at the book and hurried for the door. "I'll come with you," Steven called out after her.

The two hurried out of the dropship and into the fragrant night. The buildings of Landfall clustered around the flanks of the dropship like piglets around a sow, forming a close maze. Fortunately both Anya and Steven knew where they were going. Even if they didn't, it would have been obvious. All they had to do was follow the screams. A small knot of people had gathered outside one of the dwellings - drawn by a combination of curiosity and concern. Anya elbowed them out of her way, ignoring their complaints. Steven followed in her wake.

The dwelling consisted of three sparsely furnished rooms, each connected to the other to form a closed loop. In the first room - the one closest to the door - an older woman with white hair was standing rigid with fear, her knuckles pressed into her mouth. She watched Anya hurry past, clutching her book close to her chest. Steven stopped. "Hey, Naomi." He reached out to take the white-haired woman by her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

Naomi lowered her fists. "No," she whispered. "Peg. She's in pain. And the baby. It's wrong, isn't it?"

Steven reached up to smooth down her hair. "Anya's got the book - one that we brought with us. It'll tell her what she needs to know. And if it doesn't, then I'm sure she'll work out what to do. Anya's been at almost a dozen births."

Naomi hiccupped. "Can you make that promise? Can I believe you?"

Steven nodded. "Of course you can."

Naomi looked towards the room that the sounds of pain and misery were coming from and gripped Steven's arm tightly, digging brittle fingernails into his sleeve and the flesh underneath. "It's too soon for another one to go into the orchard. Too soon."

There was another cry of pain from within the dwelling. Anya came hurrying back into the room, her face white with worry. "I know what's wrong," she announced. "The book calls it a 'breech birth'. The baby's the wrong way round and coming out backwards." She took a deep breath. "And, worse. There's two of them in there."

"Two?" Steven and Naomi said simultaneously.

"Two," Anya confirmed. "Peg's going to need help. We," Anya glared at the others in turn, "are going to have turn the first baby around, make sure it comes out." Then she looked at Steven. "Is there any whiteroot in the stores?"

"I'll go look."

"You do that. Now. This is going to hurt Peg."

Steven hurried away. Now that he had something to do, he felt the sense of dread start to lift. At least Anya was trying, so there must be some hope for Peg; maybe even for the two children she was carrying. He pushed his way through the colonists waiting outside, ignoring their questions, and ran for the colony's stores. There, on a shelf amongst the other medical supplies, were a number of jars full of preserved whiteroot. The long, straggly tendrils contained a substance that, when bleached in the sun, was a powerful analgesic. While it didn't stop the pain completely, it dulled the hurt enough that it felt like a distant memory. Steven grabbed a jar full of whiteroot and ran back to Anya.

The birthing room stank of sweat and vomit. The few pieces of furniture in the room had been pushed back against the walls to leave a clear space around the pallet bed. On the bed, in the middle of a nest of stained bedding, lay a red-headed woman. Her skin was flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. Her breathing was fast and ragged. And, between her legs ... . Steven turned away. "Here," he said, and held out the jar of whiteroot for Anya. Anya just pointed towards Peg.

"Get up there," Anya said. "Give her some whiteroot to chew on. Keep her going. Make sure she doesn't take too much. Understand?" Steven hesitated. "Now!" Anya snapped. Steven did as he was told.

The following hours passed in a blur for Steven. Anya kept both him and Naomi busy, while she attended to Peg. But, by the time the sun had risen, Peg was lying in her bed, exhausted, but happy to be holding her two infants. Anya had pronounced the new-borns to be healthy, and had then set about dealing with afterbirth. Naomi had collapsed in a chair and fallen asleep.

Steven took a deep breath. His energy was fading, no longer buoyed up by the rush of panic-induced adrenaline. "Is there anything else you need me for?" he asked Anya.

Anya waved dismissively in his direction, not even looking at him. "No," she said. "I can take care of what's left."

"Good," said Steven. He staggered out of the dwelling and stood in the morning sun, enjoying the warmth of the new day. As the fresh air revived him, Steven remembered that there was something he needed to do.

The paint on the Sign was still tacky from the day before. Steven carefully scraped away the numerals on the sign, then painted a new set on. He stood back to admire his work.

'Implant Colony Teegarden - Landfall Founded 2190AD Population 100'