if they can set up domes, domes something like those on the Islands but strong enough to stand the air pressure and protect everything inside, that people could live there in forty or fifty years."
Tad tilted his head. "It'd be hard living like that—maybe dangerous too. But I wouldn't mind trying it, maybe, building a real home. Wandering around gets sort of lonely after a while." He sighed. "Sounds like you know some things, even if I don't really understand them." He laughed. "You know, one time I was talking to my friends about our kids—we were talking about what they'd be like when they grew up. Most of them said the usual—wanting to take their boys along on jobs, or as apprentices—maybe taking their girls along, too, if they could do the work and their mothers'd let them travel for a bit. Donny wants his girl to be a shopkeeper in Ames. You know what I said?"
Iris shook her head.
"I said I'd want a kid who was so smart I wouldn't know what she was talking about." He chuckled; Iris smiled. "I'd want her to be bettter than me."
"You're all right the way you are," Iris said, blushing. Her father averted his eyes, looking embarrassed.
"You're the only kid I have, you know—not that I don't try for some more." Tad moved his hands awkwardly. "Well, I hope you get to that place someday. Listen to me—you just keep doing what you're doing."
"I wish the others—"
"Forget about the others. Just remember what I said."
She heard a knock. The door slid open; Angharad stood there, dressed in a sheer blue gown slit to her thighs. She beamed at the pair, as if pleased to see the father and daughter together. Tad rubbed Iris's head roughly and poked her in the ribs as he got up. "We'll go to the shops tomorrow, see the opening, all right?" He paused as Angharad draped her small, rounded body seductively against the door frame. "All three of us," he added, for Angharad's benefit.
An ocean of wheat, brown waves in contours rippling under the summer sun, surrounded the island of Lincoln. The strain was a strong one, able to endure, up to a point, scorching sunshine, heavy rainfall, or cooler temperatures. Iris, for the first time, had helped to sow the seeds, putting on her band to link first with a plow and then with a sower, guiding the metal servants with her mind.
Part of her day was also spent in the greenhouse down the street, which her household shared with several others, where she checked on the carefully tended tiers of lettuce, beans, vegetables, and fruits. She had already heard Angharad and other farmers discuss the possibility of keeping the greenhouse in operation during the coming winter. Usually the communes kept most of the produce for their own use, but the agricultural coordinators up in Winnipeg, the Plains capital, had told all of the communes and towns that more of their greenhouse crops would be exported in coming years. That meant that there had to be shortages somewhere. The communes would get more credit, but also more work.
Iris felt that she had enough work as it was. She took her turn looking after LaDonna's infant daughter Mira, who had been born in early spring and had the unpleasant habit of spewing spittle into Iris's face or over her clothes. Iris did both her farm and household tasks, and all of it left little time for her lessons. She had been hoping to make up the time during the coming winter; now the greenhouse was likely to rob her of some of those precious moments.
She crouched in the field, hiding herself in the tall grain. Laiza had suggested a game of hide and seek earlier. Iris looked up at the clear blue sky. It hadn't rained for some time; Dory Trudes, the mayor, had already sent a request to Winnipeg for some rain. A few rainclouds might be routed their way if the rain were not needed more elsewhere and if the task could be done without altering climatic patterns too greatly. The Nomarchies tended to be cautious about such matters. It was not wise to tamper too much,
Tad tilted his head. "It'd be hard living like that—maybe dangerous too. But I wouldn't mind trying it, maybe, building a real home. Wandering around gets sort of lonely after a while." He sighed. "Sounds like you know some things, even if I don't really understand them." He laughed. "You know, one time I was talking to my friends about our kids—we were talking about what they'd be like when they grew up. Most of them said the usual—wanting to take their boys along on jobs, or as apprentices—maybe taking their girls along, too, if they could do the work and their mothers'd let them travel for a bit. Donny wants his girl to be a shopkeeper in Ames. You know what I said?"
Iris shook her head.
"I said I'd want a kid who was so smart I wouldn't know what she was talking about." He chuckled; Iris smiled. "I'd want her to be bettter than me."
"You're all right the way you are," Iris said, blushing. Her father averted his eyes, looking embarrassed.
"You're the only kid I have, you know—not that I don't try for some more." Tad moved his hands awkwardly. "Well, I hope you get to that place someday. Listen to me—you just keep doing what you're doing."
"I wish the others—"
"Forget about the others. Just remember what I said."
She heard a knock. The door slid open; Angharad stood there, dressed in a sheer blue gown slit to her thighs. She beamed at the pair, as if pleased to see the father and daughter together. Tad rubbed Iris's head roughly and poked her in the ribs as he got up. "We'll go to the shops tomorrow, see the opening, all right?" He paused as Angharad draped her small, rounded body seductively against the door frame. "All three of us," he added, for Angharad's benefit.
An ocean of wheat, brown waves in contours rippling under the summer sun, surrounded the island of Lincoln. The strain was a strong one, able to endure, up to a point, scorching sunshine, heavy rainfall, or cooler temperatures. Iris, for the first time, had helped to sow the seeds, putting on her band to link first with a plow and then with a sower, guiding the metal servants with her mind.
Part of her day was also spent in the greenhouse down the street, which her household shared with several others, where she checked on the carefully tended tiers of lettuce, beans, vegetables, and fruits. She had already heard Angharad and other farmers discuss the possibility of keeping the greenhouse in operation during the coming winter. Usually the communes kept most of the produce for their own use, but the agricultural coordinators up in Winnipeg, the Plains capital, had told all of the communes and towns that more of their greenhouse crops would be exported in coming years. That meant that there had to be shortages somewhere. The communes would get more credit, but also more work.
Iris felt that she had enough work as it was. She took her turn looking after LaDonna's infant daughter Mira, who had been born in early spring and had the unpleasant habit of spewing spittle into Iris's face or over her clothes. Iris did both her farm and household tasks, and all of it left little time for her lessons. She had been hoping to make up the time during the coming winter; now the greenhouse was likely to rob her of some of those precious moments.
She crouched in the field, hiding herself in the tall grain. Laiza had suggested a game of hide and seek earlier. Iris looked up at the clear blue sky. It hadn't rained for some time; Dory Trudes, the mayor, had already sent a request to Winnipeg for some rain. A few rainclouds might be routed their way if the rain were not needed more elsewhere and if the task could be done without altering climatic patterns too greatly. The Nomarchies tended to be cautious about such matters. It was not wise to tamper too much,
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