Automorphs by M. K. Dreysen

Author:M. K. Dreysen [Dreysen, M. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aimward Drift
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6: Technical Matters

The little town was named Agua Dulce. "Sweetwater", one of many scattered around the West in real life. In simulation, it was one of the names that floated to the top of the computer's awareness, and the players.

This Agua Dulce nestled in a little valley, high enough to decorate itself in snow, just the right amount. But not aspiring to the peaks around it.

That, the town left for the individual. The town was the gateway to the high country, not the high country itself.

Peaked roof architecture, gables here and there, adobe side by side with Queen Anne confections.

The founding generation was a collection of misfits and strangers. Washed through by life, 'til they'd gathered in fits and starts in the valley. From here, from there, accents and dress and heritage and languages from all over.

"The neo-Bohemians," Addie Wentmyre had named them. "Give us good clean water, a place to share it, and plenty of elbow room for when we turn into assholes and get on each other's nerves."

Bedalia Washington had come up with the name, late one night when she and Greg and Addie were about to finish off a half-gallon of Old Granddad. Greg had already used the last of the RC Cola they were mixing it with, so Bedalia made her last drink with well-water.

"Sweetest water I've ever had, my love. Agua dulce, in the best sense." And she raised her glass to toast the guys under the slow dawn peaking over the valley.

"I think you've just named the place, Bedalia," Greg said, slow and careful from his seat on their porch.

"I know she did," Addie agreed. "Let's put up a sign."

And they did, right then and there. Planks from the scrap pile Gregory had laid up, the house unfinished but ready willing to provide the town's first sign.

Lydia found the three of them standing around, bleary and unwound from the night's drunk, but proud under the guttering light of a kerosene lantern. Addie had punched his thumb with the hammer, he'd lose the thumbnail and curse the process when the pain registered, but right now all he knew, all Greg and Bedalia and Addie knew or cared about was the drunken scrawl across the plank.

"Agua Dulce," Lydia read it out, trying not to giggle at her husband and her friends swaying in place.

She let them wait for it. "I like it. Now, the three of you haul your drunk asses off to bed before you pass out in the snow. I can't carry you with this," and she pointed to her prominent belly, the twins inside swelling and growing along with the town.

The half-dozen houses, and the families within, mostly still being built as time and weather permitted, hippies and rednecks, cityfolk and countryfolk, everyone sawing and cutting with their own hands. That little group were the ones they called the founders, those that were there when the sign went up and Lydia Wentmyre gave birth to the twins.

Not the first children to live in the little valley.

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