Becoming Chosen

We are lucky. The history of humanity has shown us exactly the tool we need to sharply delineate the acceptable boundaries of the Habitat Module culture. Religion is the perfect tool. How often have words from the Divine been used to keep change at bay? Far, far too many times to count. With no other religion to compare to, the one we establish will easily endure the six hundred years of the trip.

Colman Toliver – Excerpt from the minutes of the Cultural Committee, Sealed Archives

“Drakar Costello, has left us, and this our loss,” said the woman at the front of the Meeting House. Miri didn’t know her name, but she knew the type. The Book of the Chosen was very clear. Anyone could officiate a worship. But there were always some who longed to do it more than others. In most cases it was more trouble than it was worth to make an issue of it.

She could remember being a small child and sitting between her parents in the Meeting House in Habmo3, listening to her Da quietly mock the Officiant. He would mutter at their piety, scoff at their blind devotion to the rules of the Chosen, making little Miri giggle at the shocking nature of his words. Mum would shush him by glaring at the two of them, then flicking her glance around the room. Her unsaid words warned of the shame and shunning they might endure because of Da. But her mouth also had a small smile on it. She appreciated his skewering of the pompous as much as Miri did.

“Drakar learned the Way of the Chosen,” the woman continued.

“Gods of Earth, teach us,” the crowd chanted in response, Miri included. The litany of call and response was something she had been part of since before she could remember. It was impossible to imagine doing anything else when presented with the cues.

“Drakar knew the responsibilities of the Chosen. He preserved the knowledge of buildin’.”

“Gods of Earth, we will preserve the knowledge.”

The litany was so automatic Miri had plenty of time to look around. The Meeting House was different from the one at home. Habmo6 had families who worked in glass as their path. They had used their skills to build large panels of colored glass into the roof. Each panel showed different Gods giving the knowledge to the Chosen.

Right above her the Gods of Building were directing a barn raising. To the left were the Gods of Husbandry directing Chosen to paddocks filled with sheep and goats. Towards the front of the hall, a scene of the Gods of Agriculture dominated the ceiling.

The bright green of the fields cast a gray-green pallor on poor dead Drakar and the Officiant, making them both look faintly decayed. Miri ruthlessly suppressed the smile that attempted to cross her face. It was a funeral after all, and if she was not sad about the departure of a man she’d never known, there were surely his friends, children and grandchildren in the hall. It was one thing to be disrespectful to the Gods, it was quite another to make more pain for those grieving.

“Drakar lived his life as an example to all Chosen.”

“Gods of Earth, see us.”

The images of the Gods where all made out of bright white glass. Their shapes and size were that of people, but they had no features. There was no description of the Gods in the Book of the Chosen. Tradition said they looked like ordinary men and women, but surely Gods must have had some special visage, else how would anyone know they were Gods? It was one of those questions Miri had always wanted answered. But the times she had brought it up she had been quickly shamed to silence, even with her friends. It was frustrating, everyone knew what worked, but no one wanted to think about how it worked, or, even worse, why.

“Now his body will be recycled, returned to the soil of this habmo, to strengthen and nourish us all, as the Gods decreed.”

“Gods of Earth, we remember.”

Miri looked around the hall, wondering how many there really believed in the Gods of Earth. She knew her Uncle did. She could see him sitting upright and fervent towards the front of the hall. Glancing sideways at Solange, then Farhi, she could see they were swept up in the moment, the pull of all these people, all doing the same thing, had them tight in its grip.

So, what was wrong with her? As far back as she could remember, she never believed in the Gods. There had been times, especially after her parents had died that Miri wished with all her heart she could have the simple faith of other Chosen. But even in those dark days, doubt gnawed at her. The Book taught that the Gods knew so much, were so clear in their vision they had set things up so the Chosen could bring their knowledge to a new world. But if all it took was knowing more than others to be a God, why weren’t there any among the Chosen? It was one of those questions she could never even ask, let alone get a real answer to.

“Drakar is gone but we will keep him as example in our hearts. As long as we try to live up to his example, he will never be truly dead.”

“Gods of Earth, we will follow.”

“Our brother has left us, but we will continue on, along the Path of the Chosen, so the Gods will be proud of our work.”

Gods of Earth, we follow as we have been asked.”

The Officiant turned from the assembly and carefully wrapped the ends of the burial cloth around Drakar’s head, covering his face as the rest of his body was covered. Turning back, she raised her face to the roof, and the glass Gods there, spreading out her arms to the side. “As you have taught us, we have said good-bye to our Brother Drakar. We hope and trust we are actin’ in the way you would be proud, oh Gods of Earth. Amen.”

The crowd echoed the amen back, then stood as four of their number gathered around the shrouded body. As one, they picked it up and carried it out of the Meeting House. The next step was the recycling pit, but it was not mandatory for anyone but family. Miri and her friends already had plans to walk through the Southern End Festival booths.

Farhi led the three of them out of the Meeting House, and turned up the road toward the Festival site, a series of booths set up at the intersection of two of the habmo roads. Miri couldn’t resist a peek back, and sure enough, Uncle Fergus was frowning in her direction. But he gave a grudging nod, seeing her with her friends. After all, one of the main things that came from Festivals was finding a mate.

As much as he thought it was improper for her to skip the recycling, making her go would have been unChosen of him. Turning back Miri smiled. It wasn’t often she caught Uncle Fergus between two conflicting dictates of being Chosen.

The first stop at the Festival was, of course, the ice cream tent. The cattle Miri had seen moving to the habmo a few days ago would all still be giving less milk than usual, but there was enough for a special treat. Habmo2 had fields of beets. The Chosen who lived there banded together to produce sugar, but it was always a limited amount. Most of it was used during Festivals, where everyone wanted to show off their skills with treats. Today’s offering was strawberry flavored. Each of the girls took a small bowl and ate it as they wandered through the booths.

There were examples of rope making, leather working, carpentry, as well as the big tent where prize livestock were shown off. Today was the goat contest. Earning a ribbon for breeding was a big boost in the standings for Most Righteous, for youths and adults. Contestants stood near their entries, waiting to answer the questions of the judges and pitch their animal.

They kept rabbits on Uncle Fergus’s farm, most agricultural Chosen did, but neither he, Aunt Kia nor Miri were really interested in them, so there were no entries from them. Goats were food, just like cows and Miri didn’t see the point in getting involved with a single animal, only to cook it up later. There needed to be a little separation between the living creatures and humans.

After looking at quilts and special clothes on display the trio drifted over to the space where a team of Sixers were building a wagon. The eight-person team was working away at a blazing pace. The judging would not only be on time, but also on the quality of the end product.

Farhi, whose family also worked with wood, was giving a running commentary. “They’re goin’ to lose points for the joint work, no way they will be tight enough. I bet they think they can make ‘em good enough to get past the judgin’. Idiots. Like that idea hasn’t been around since five minutes after the Gods of Earth sent us on our way.”

Miri would be damned if she could tell the difference by sight, but looking to the other side of the ring where some older men stood, nodding and pointing, it was apparent others were noticing. Not that she cared too much, there were other things to watch here that didn’t have anything to do with building things.

One of the boys working on the wagon, grabbed the hem of his light shirt and pulled it off over his head, revealing a long, lean and well-muscled torso. Sweat gleamed off of the hard ridges of his stomach, making Miri’s tighten in response. He wiped the slick hair out of his face with the back of a hand, and his nearly white, pale blue eyes met Miri’s. He paused for a second to give her a grin, then went back to work.

“Who is that?” Miri whispered to Solange. Solange always knew all the boys names.

“Him? Oh, that’s Bret Finn. He’s gorgeous, isn’t he ever?” Solange said with a grin so wicked it might cost her whole family any chance of being Most Righteous. “Did you see him smile at you? He’s exactly the kind of boy you should be spendin’ time with.”

Miri agreed whole heartedly, but she was hardly going to let her friend know.

“He was probably smilin’ at some other girl,” she said not taking her eyes off the muscles working in Bret’s back.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out. We’ll just stay until they are done, and ask him.”

“Oh, no! Every girl in the world-around must be eyein’ him. I’d just make a fool of meself!” Miri objected.

“You always run yourself down, Miri.” Solange retorted. “You’re much prettier than you know. Besides, what do you have to lose by talkin’ to him?”

“My pride, my dignity and my self-respect, for three.”

Solange rolled her eyes at Miri. “Farhi, tell her she should talk to the boy without the shirt.”

Farhi didn’t say anything until Solange punched her in the shoulder.

“Hey! What the? Oh, aye, Miri, you should talk to him. Even if nothin’ happens, its good practice,” Farhi said, never taking her eyes off the team.

Miri opened her mouth to argue, but what Farhi said made sense. Besides, she could just tell Solange was not going to let go of this idea. The boy, Bret, was breath-taking, so at worst she’d get to stand here a while and watch him.

“Fine, if that’s what you want,” she told Solange. Her friend squealed, jumping up and down and clapping. At least one of them was excited by the prospect.

It took the team a good hour to finish, but eventually they managed to get the last wheel on the wagon and all put their hands up to signal they were done. It took another half-hour while the judges went over every inch of the wagon.

One judge was built like a slab of beef. His arms were easily as big around as Miri’s thighs. He went to each corner of the wagon, pulling, pushing, and straining. If Miri hadn’t seen the long nails the team used, she would have sworn the wagon was in danger of being ripped to shreds.

When he was finished, he conferred with the other two judges, then they all faced the crowd. A tall woman, with black, straight hair, stepped forward.

“The team should be commended for their quick work. The time was under three hours twenty minutes,” she said.

The crowd cheered. It was a very quick time. But the woman held up her hand for quiet.

“However, in their haste, the team did not take enough time with the corners and joints. This wagon would require maintenance far too soon and too often. The judges therefore give a score of thirty-one for quality.”

Miri joined Farhi in wincing. The score, out of a possible fifty, was so low that unless the other teams took far longer or failed completely, it was unlikely that these boys would get the ribbon.

The crowd gave the team a polite round of applause, then started to wander off. The next team would try again later in the day. Miri and her friends walked directly towards the group of boys, all of whom stood slump shouldered.

“You boys should have known better than to skimp on the joints,” said the huge judge. “Still, you’re all young, and that’s when its best to make those kinds o’ mistakes. There will be plenty o’ other chances at other Festivals.”

The boys all nodded their heads in acceptance and the big judge turned and left. Now that Miri was here in front of Bret, she was far from convinced that this was a good idea. He was standing with his back to her, talking to his team-mates. Miri found herself lost in the strong shoulders and the way the muscles on his back made a long V. Then, without any warning, he turned and saw the three girls standing there.

For a second Miri thought she would be struck dumb, or that her legs would take off running on their own. Instead, it was her mouth that acted without her permission.

“Sorry that they gave you such a low score,” she said.

Bret smiled, revealing large, straight and perfectly white teeth. Was there anything about this boy that wasn’t prefect?

“Aye, I told those nitwits the judges would catch it. But what can you do? They decided to try it, and short of havin’ an argument in front the whole Festival, there was nothing I could do but hope. But there was almost no chance ol’ Tom Dellard would miss it.”

Miri barely heard a word Bret said. She was too busy trying to keep herself from reaching out and running her hands over the firm flat ridges of his chest. Was this what Solange and Farhi felt when they looked at boys? Sure, Miri could tell who was cute and who was not, but this was the first time she had felt the need to do something about it. And World Around, did she want to!

Luckily, Farhi saved her. “Which ones had this brilliant idea?”

“Don and Casmir,” Bret said pointing out two of the boys.

“Right, in that case, I have a few choice words for them. Solange, c’mon, you’ll like this!” Farhi said, taking Solange by the arm and moving over to the other boys.

“I think your friends are about to have their ears planed off,” Miri said.

Bret laughed. It was a good laugh, and it made the muscles in his chest and stomach move in a very distracting fashion.

“Not more than they deserve, tell true. I won’t team with them again if they don’t swear off on tryin’ for the easy way. We could have done it right and still be finished in fair time.”

“The Path of the Chosen is straight. It is only by turnin’ off it that we make more work for ourselves,” Miri said. It stunned her. She hated hearing that platitude when Uncle Fergus said it, but now it flowed off her tongue as if it were her own idea!

“That’s what Dad always says,” Bret said with another blinding smile.

“Tis my Uncle Fergus who says it to me,” Miri admitted.

“Aye, it seems like all the old men are big on it.”

Miri laughed. He actually made a joke about being Chosen! In a second she was so overwhelmed by Bret, his body, the way he talked, his wonderful smile she couldn’t find any words. The conversation hung there with the two of them looking at each other, saying nothing.

Finally, Bret spoke, “There’s going to be fireworks tonight. Would you like to go and sit with me?”

Miri couldn’t trust her ears. Had Bret just asked her out? It meant a lot more than just a casual date. As a rule, if someone asked you to one of the night events at Festival, it meant they were interested in pairing up. Could this boy read minds? How did he know what she had wanted to ask him?

“Uh, sure.” Miri stammered, “I mean yes, I would like that.”

“Good, I’ll meet you at the live-stock tent, before they dim the light-tube? Eh?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Perfect,” Bret said, then looked over to where Farhi was tearing a strip off poor Casmir and Don. “Well, I better rescue those two before she raises a blister on them. See you tonight.”

Miri stood gob-smacked while Bret went and collected his friends. They all walked away together, and Solange and Farhi came back to stand before her, wide grins on both their faces.

“Well?” Solange asked, putting any number of implications and questions into a single word.

“He asked me to the fireworks!” Miri burst out, her voice high and excited. Her friends reacted with squeals and hugs. The scene was loud enough it attracted the attention of a couple of the older folks still hanging around. Miri blushed bright red at the scrutiny, but her friends just laughed and pulled her away to gossip.