SEA OF GLASS by Barry B. Longyear

Author:Barry B. Longyear [Longyear, Barry B.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Enchanteds
Published: 2011-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

The amount I cut easily keeps the rest of the crew occupied piling my slash. Carelessness on their part could cost a leg or an arm. When I cut, everyone takes care to stay well to my rear. None of them ever see my face when I cut. Now and then I wonder what it looks like as I visualize the ranks of blackshit I am cutting down.

Wardate: 17:18-9AUG2033

Downlimit: -77037:15:11

40

The beginning of winter.

I stand on the south side of Main Street, West Ellen, a strange silence in my ears. The chill and gray sky of the morning that tickled my face with fluffy flakes of snow as I climbed the road into the mountains is now white, the snow beginning to gather on the ground.

There are large white frame houses with barns attached.

They are ancient and fly in the teeth of every principle of heat conservation the Compact has tried to instill for the past thirty years. The street is dominated by the trunks and soaring heights of huge naked maple trees.

There is the smell of wood smoke on the street, and the chimneys on the houses issue steamy columns that climb into the sky until they disappear into the whiteness of the snowfall.

I am standing in front of one of the large houses. Bolted to the right of the door is a white sign with green lettering: West Ellen Public Library.

Farther down the street, just past the crossroads, one of the large houses has an illuminated sign hanging above the porch: Dyar's Variety. That will be the town constable. Somewhere in the tiny store will be another terminal, wiring in West Ellen's law enforcement to the rest of the Compact police system. There are lights on inside the ground floor of Dyar's, There are no lights on inside the library.

From across the wide street comes the sound of a door closing. On her porch stands an old woman in a bright yellow cape and hood. Placing her hand on the railing, she eases her way down the four steps to her walkway and marches across the street toward me. She comes to a halt in front of me and looks at my face over the tops of her wire-rimmed glasses.

"Are you waiting for the library to open?"

"No."

"I open the library promptly at nine 0' clock every morning except Sunday. I was simply a little late this morning." She moves her face closer. Although she is frowning, her face is soft, kind.

"You're new."

"I'm looking for Citizen Avon Weeks. I'm renting a cabin from him for the winter."

Her eyebrows go up. "Citizen? You mind me, young man. Call Avon Weeks either Mister or Avon. He don't like to be called Citizen." Her eyebrows lower. "We're like that here in West Ellen. It's no reflection on the government. What's your name?"

"Thomas Mills."

Up go her eyebrows again. "Any relation to the Millses over to Monkton?"

"No."

"Didn't think so. I'm Meghan French. I'm the librarian."

She turns and points in the direction of Dyar's Variety. "Down past Dyar's, keep on Main Street until you reach a fork.

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