Oct 10th, 2336
Throughout the ebb and flow of time, all civilizations hold onto a motley of bizarre traditions. The Belt was not immune to such archaic customs, the least of which was mandatory male vigilance during pregnancy. In the wee days of the Belt, when the specter of catastrophe loomed large, and Janice yet to enter the picture, this seemingly obsolete tradition held water. Modernity paved the way for the advent of superior Medicine, which coupled with Janice's hyper-efficient surveillance meant accidents were a mere anomaly. Still, this sagely tradition persisted despite the odds, like an age-old oak defying the ravages of time. Other than old age or the odd suicide, which was allowed if your children were podded, there were almost no deaths.
It was this custom, fading but not gone, that had Skodj at home feeling trapped. He sat in a dense orange marshmallow-esque situpon with his legs propped up on a simple matching padded rectangle that he absentmindedly kept changing the height of, unable to get comfortable. Dramatically, he would sigh deeply every so often. Sounds being rare, everyone in earshot jumped a little at the quiet noises.
He was viewing through Marn's eyes, watching the large gravity combines sucking up,sifting, and sorting the topsoil down on Earth, rapidly filling the huge cargo ships. He spotted a belter staring Marn's way, and Skodj switched his view to those eyes so he could look over Marn.
Marn looked imposing. He was edited and raised to look tall, broad, and muscular. The brooding air of tightly restrained fury was a carefully crafted affectation. At home, he was a calm, happy man who was usually smiling. Of the pod, he had the best sense of humor and a loud, boisterous laugh.
He had long, full, curly brown hair, a thick beard, and a burly mustache. Between this and his standard-issue bright blue belter jumpsuit, almost all his yellowish-gray skin was covered. On Origin, the natives were always battling each other, but they didn't want to tangle with the advanced tech of the belters. And while their gravity shields would protect against most threats, it was best practice for a belter to boldly announce their status with costume and noise.
Skodj lowered his legs a few centimeters. Marn was watching the streams of loam, peat, plant, and tree flow through the air out of sight. Skodj could tell he was paying more attention to the tree line beyond, attentive for any sign of trouble. To Skodj, he looked weary.
Two weeks gone, Marn had one more day of scavenging which included finishing up this deal and a skim job of ocean water as they left. Nine days there, six days negotiating and harvesting, and nine days back. Ever since the first group fled the Earth, 30 years after the First Collapse, and formed the Unified Independence Coalition – its name changed often, and their memories shifted to reflect it – out of the asteroid belt, topsoil had been a problem. Even with near-complete recycling and gravity tumblers to grind rocks into dirt, the occasional trade for mulch and vegetation, while not vital, made life nicer. There was a time just before the Second Collapse and for a few decades afterward where it was decided it was too dangerous to land. Skodj was young when they started raiding again but clearly remembered how much better tasting and plentiful the food became.
“Lucky bastard,” thought Skodj of Marn, even though he had no wish of ever setting foot on Earth. But he was not of a mood to continue to walk on eggshells around Amrite. He let out another heavy sigh.
“Go,” Katya whispered in his mind, firm and understanding. His mood was bothering Amrite, and she and Linda could tend to her needs just fine. He was in the hallway before his “Love you” flashed through her thoughts.
He walked quickly in his comical way down the round, twisty blue corridors. Janice shifted gravity and orientation as he went. Skodj preferred 0.63 Earth gravity except when feeling the need to regain muscle tone. Then he would typically spend 3 to 4 days at 1.5 g's, much to the annoyance of Linda, who refused to come near him then.
The door was an opaque curtain of light. In a current fad, it was decorated in the flags of countries from before the Collapse in proportionate size to his racial makeup. Scotland was almost a full half the curtain, followed by Canada, the Republic of Singapore, South Korea, The Californian Emirates, and a host of much smaller flags.
He walked through the curtain, not disturbing the pattern at all, and took a few steps into the room. Janice killed the lights. This was ritual; surely she turned the lights on seconds before his arrival to complete the effect. The room was dark. He was alone. For 60 seconds, he breathed in and out slowly, soaking in the solitude, letting his mind clear and his body relax. Then the lights slowly came up.
The room was empty. He had been devoid of inspiration the last several months, waiting for Kalla, their final child to be born. He had been unable to create prior to the births of his third and fourth children as well. He knew it was pointless, but he urged a chair to form up from the floor, sat, closed his eyes, and concentrated. Shapes, semi-solid with varying degrees of ethereal edges, flowed in and out of each other, changing shape, color, and textures as they did. Sounds ebbed and clashed, occasionally vibrated violently. And emotions plucked on the mind on several levels.
It was juvenile at best. He nudged here and there, added some gravity swirls, dropped gaps into the emotion tracks. It just got worse. In frustration he violently flung his hands apart and it all fell to the floor a puddle of multi-colored watery liquid that rapidly disappeared.
He conjured the situpon into a lieupon. It reshaped in such a fashion that he was now lying down without any movement on his part. He lowered the lights by half and stared at the blank wall ahead. He loved being alone. He was by nature and temperament more of a hermit. Once his last child was grown and had formed a unit of her own, he had often thought that he might travel to the outer edge of the belt and live alone for a decade. It was one of best elements of being a sculptor: nearly anything could be justified under inspiration.
Of course by podding Amrite he had added 30 years or so to the deadline when he had to decide if he was serious or not.