April 7, 2013

After that, it looked like it was farms or vocational schooling, although the ones tapped for government work went to some kind of seminary in the capital.

Geographically, there wasn't much in the way of mountains, and transport between the parishes seemed to be hydrogen powered lift ships the parishes being separated by about a hundred klicks or more. The plains between the settlements were mostly undeveloped, home to a still thriving native ecology. No large predators, although there were toxic-to-human herbivores that appeared to be fading in the face of human-led cattle. The parishes seemed to be at subsistence level.

“Hey, we've got a newcomer.” A hand landed heavily on Vinca's shoulder, startling her.

She reacted without thought, falling away from the hand, shoving back the chair she'd been using, grabbing the stylus that was lying by her data-pad and palming it, the tip just beyond her fingertips. A startled grunt rewarded her that her attacker hadn't thought she'd move as quickly. She grabbed, found the cloth of a shirt and yanked, pulling down her attacker and putting his chin just above the tip of the stylus. She could punch her hand and the stylus up through the soft flesh under the chin and into his brain almost faster than thought.

And she was looking at a frightened, scruffy man's face. He was Swahlu, mostly it looked like but his face had gone grayish with fright. Beyond him, two like faces, both male, both scruffy, Metiz of some kind, a ginger haired man and a blond. The man she held had hands up, palms out trying to look non-threatening.

Not an attack, somebody being stupid. Didn't they know stupidity killed more than malice.

She released the shirt, stepped back, forced herself to stand easy and put the stylus down beside her 'pad. “Don't,” she warned. “Do that again, kuele'?” She forced herself to breathe slowly, calming, trying to slow her heart down from the triphammer rate of fight-and-flight.

“Ku--Kueleweka.” the Swahlu said, rubbing his throat. She must've grabbed his shirt close to his neck. “Miungu, just trying to be friendly to a fellow qerib. You got something to prove, mbwa?”

“I don't like being startled.” Vinca forced herself to speak calmly. “You startled me.” She turned off the reader, popped the chip out, picked up her pad. “Siku njema.”

One of the other two men, the ginger haired one, hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “Don't you want to hang around, get acquainted?” His leer indicated something other than talk.

“No.”

He waited until she was almost out of the room and muttered. “Moereas poes, teef.” He probably didn't figure she'd understand. She'd let it pass, this time, still shaken from almost killing someone who hadn't meant to kill her.