It had taken Luke almost a week to get the ball rolling on everything that needed to happen. Contractors were arriving the next day to lay duracrete for the pump house and rig everything up for irrigation.
Morel was helping her friend move into the workers’ lodge. While she hauled light boxes, Hank joyrode the earth-mover, Luke was only a few more trees away from collapsing.
He stepped down off the back of the hover-sled, turned around, and grabbed hold of a fresh sapling by the twine bundle. The servos on the attached workman frame whirred to life as he hefted a weight his body had no fundamental right to be capable of.
Despite the simple exosuit allowing him to move several tons, he was still exhausted after planting nearly two hundred trees---with several hundred more to go.
Luke lowered the tree into the ground, being careful not to damage any of the fragile boughs or sensitive rootwork peeking through the blue-dyed burlap that contained them. Once it was set in the ground, Brukus stepped to the side of the hole and began shoveling dirt. His massive unaided frame made easy work of the heavy labor.
Luke couldn’t help but feel jealous; if he were built like Brukus or Morel, this back-breaking work would be child’s play.
Within a few minutes, the tree was planted, and Luke sprayed the fresh soil with water to start the speedy process of genetically engineered growth.
“Another one down,” Brukus said, casting his gaze back at the dozens of rows they had already planted. “How long will it be until you all are looking to harvest?”
“It will take a few months, but if all goes well, the trees will bear fruit by the end of this autumn,” Luke explained, moving the hose slowly from side to side, ensuring the entire plant's root system would receive enough sustenance.
While the farm would technically no longer be all organic for this first harvest, they could not afford to wait; Through careful selection of genetically engineered trees, and nearly a week spent formulating fertilizer in his room, the trees could grow at ten times the normal rate.
That also meant the saplings would need ten times the food and water, but with the pump house finished tomorrow and the irrigation trenches being worked on by Hank, all would work out. The low rumble of Brukus’ earth mover could be heard in the distance, as the old man slowly moved tons of earth.
The solution of having a potent fertilizer was a boon they could not overlook. Luke just wished that creating such a specialized synthetic had not cost him almost all of his liquid chits. Most of the remainder went to buying the trees and tools, including his exoskeleton.
He was so broke that even a meal in town might bankrupt him. But if it was for Morel… he would give up his very last chit.
His wealth now was such a far cry from the silver-spoon life he grew up with, it was surreal. But Luke did not feel poor. This work was fulfilling and gave him everything he wanted… save for a companion in life.
“So do you really think you can save this situation?” Brukus asked, stomping on the loose soil around the tree's base with his hoof, while Luke hung the hose up on a hook attached to a tank mounted on the hover-sled. "This does not look like a quick solution to me."
“All the data support my conclusion. This year will be tight, but it should work,” Luke explained, sitting down on the hover-sled and adjusting his hat so the brim covered the back of his neck, a sunburn already forming there.
“Not what I asked,” Brukus replied, “I work with numbers and tech enough to know what the data supports is often enough krek-shit. What do you feel in your gut?” Brukus said, poking Luke’s stomach.
Luke thought back to his time in school. His old teacher, Dimula, had told him many times that he gets too lost in the data, in the facts. Dimula had chastised Luke for relying only on things that could be quantified and understood. But for Luke, it was the only thing that made sense.
Botany wasn’t mystic mountain bullshit or good vibes spirituality. It was a math problem. Give a plant the right balance of food, water, and light, and it would grow. Simple. Reliable.
He, as the tender of such sensitive creations, ensured the optimal conditions based upon what he could change within that esoteric equation.
Going with one's gut had always seemed like a way to miss the details, miss the critical information that held the secrets to the solution to the problem.
One's gut gave nothing but a short feeling that would make you feel validated when it all works out. After all, saying you just knew it would work out sounds far more impressive than saying you decoded all the data, analyzed the information, and built a reliable model.
Being able to say you just knew sounded almost magical.
The claim that you could just solve the issue without effort made you sound like some mystic of old, slinging cures at the end of a few shakes of a chicken bone and a flick of blood.
That was Luke's old thoughts on the matter. Since everything else he knew about life turned out to be—hrek-shit, why not embrace a bit more of what it means to leave that life of academia, and cutthroat pomp behind?
“It will work,” Luke said confidently, not a hint of hesitation in his voice.
“Righto, cowboy,” Brukus nodded, patting Luke's shoulder, his towering black horns casting a massive shadow over the comparatively small human.
Luke paused and looked back at Brukus as he moved to man the controls and move the hover-sled another few yards to the next pre-dug hole. “Why do you keep calling me cowboy?”
“Ain’t that what you are?”
“No. I’m no cowboy. I’m just a…” Luke paused, thinking about what title he would use at this point. He certainly was not an heir to the Stephens fortune, not after what Jackie, his father, and uncle had done before his flight from the university.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
He was not a doctor, and never would be one now that all the bridges to Olympus Mons had been burned to cinders. All he had from that period of his life was his experience, and the slight bit of clout he had gained from working around the coalition; neither of those would generate him anything beyond passing accolades, and hopefully allow grace to the farm for this year’s likely light harvest.
Was the term cowboy a more accurate term for who Luke was? Or more accurately, what he was becoming. With the last of his money having been spent to soothe the last of the farm’s festering wounds, all that bound him to his old self was gone. He certainly felt more welcome here than on Mars.
He could see the genuine outreach those of Grey Rock had shown him. Luke was cognizant enough to understand he was the one pushing back, keeping them at a respectable distance.
The idea that here was somewhere he could belong was more seductive by the day, interaction, moment shared in silent existence where all that was before them was all that mattered to them.
Even now, so early on, the idea of leaving here and returning to ambling the galaxy all alone caused a tempestuous pain to swirl in his chest.
He looked down at his now well-worn hands, callus forming across the dirt-strewn dermis. Past that, he saw his now scuffed boots, an insane change from his old several-thousand-chit loafers. What was he now? Who was he becoming?
“I’m not sure,” Luke said quietly, looking up and watching as the winds rustled the young saplings he leaned against atop the platform.
Each was a young thing, grown somewhere else, uprooted against their will, ready to be planted anew in a strange new world that will allow them to reach far and wide; all while their roots dig deep, and anchor them to their new home—not unlike him.
The rest of the workday was over before either had realized it. Most of the trees had been planted, save for a few, and the last of the irrigation piping would be laid over the next few days. That was plain enough to see from the yard, as the sun kissed the peaks of the distant mountains.
Deep trenches filled with pre-laid pipe criss-crossed the fields, barely visible between the young saplings. Hank had worked just as hard as Brukus and Luke today.
For such an old man, he had an endless pool of stamina. Hank was in no way quick, but Luke respected his work ethic. Hank slaved away tirelessly at one pace, no matter what.
The old cowboy had gone back home several hours earlier, and Morel’s best friend would not be moving in tonight. She still had a few more things to move and was still cleaning the workers’ lodging, so she had gone home as well.
Brukus and Luke sat in the backyard, a few yards distance from the house in chairs placed around an unlit fire-ring. Luke winced while sipping at some juice. The rose-and-saffron sky burned low, leaving the yard and back porch bathed in cool shadow.
Brukus and Luke were not the only ones enjoying the cool weather after this particularly grueling day around the farm. Ember and the other barn cats lingered near the porch. Ember, when they had first sat down, came by, made her presence known, then returned to her family.
Without Button around, it seemed Luke was relegated to third place in terms of who she wanted to spend time with. Button, her family, and then Luke.
“You alright?” Morel asked, stepping back out of the house, her own drink in hand.
“Yeah," Luke rolled his shoulders. “I’m just a bit sore.”
“Do you want something for the pain?” Morel asked, setting her drink on another chair before fully turning her attention to Luke. “I can get you some ice, maybe a painkiller.”
“You should give him a massage,” Brukus laughed. “Cowboy here needs it after what he did.”
Both blushed, glancing at each other before Morel stomped and turned on Brukus, looking like she was about to yell at him, similar to how a younger sister would at their older brother.
Instead of venting her frustration right then and there, Morel shook her head and quickly rushed back into the house, her tail wagging happily, while she muttered with quiet venom to herself.
“Come on, Morel, you know you want to!” Brukus yelled.
A pregnant silence fell over the area; all eyes were on Brukus, even the cats watched the large man, as if even they could not believe how flustered he had made Morel with just a few words. It took a minute, but Luke eventually worked up the nerve to breach the tension.
“You shouldn’t tease her like that,” Luke said, forcing himself to push away the thought of her hands easing his aches. “It clearly makes her uncomfortable.”
Brukus leaned back in the chair and stabbed an accusing finger at Luke, the wood protesting against his heavy weight. “Why not. It’s not like you don’t want her to give you a massage.”
“That’s not the point,” Luke replied defensively.
“Oh, so you do want that?” Brukus raised a brow.
Luke swallowed his spit and looked away from Brukus, toward Ember and the other cats, trying to push the thought of Morel caressing him, and how soft her body would be out of his mind.
That task was impossible.
All the glances, the times each had caught the other looking, and how much effort both had been making to try to make the other comfortable with one another surged forward into his mind.
They were mundane things, actions that most would see as nothing, but after his turbulent life, this simplicity was as good as gold. Every meal, good morning— just having someone waiting for you where you lay your head was something Luke had never cherished before.
That everydayness was beyond jubilant. It was heaven on earth.
“And that is my point,” Brukus declared, crossing his arms, seeing Luke clearly acting at odds with himself. “You won’t say anything for some reason, and she is smart and can see the same, so she won’t push the issue.”
“And why can’t I just not? What difference does it make if I do like her? It’s not like me not saying anything is hurting anyone,” Luke replied, metaphorically digging his heels into the ground.
Brukus looked up at the house and saw Morel’s ivory horns swiftly tuck behind the curtains. “It might not mean anything to you. You’ll finish this job and vanish, won’t you?. But that leaves Morel here all alone, and after what she has been through, being alone again is something she shouldn’t deal with.”
“She has you, and her friend who is moving in,” Luke counterpointed.
Brukus snorted. “You and I both know that’s not that same thing.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
Brukus looked over Luke’s shoulder and saw that Morel had changed her hiding spot and was now moving within the kitchen. Her ears fluttered and turned as she did, still keeping a keen ear tuned to them.
He smirked, finding Morel’s attempts at stealth to be endearing. Morel had always been that way. She stuck her nose into things, gauged the situation, then, if she felt particularly bold, would step in and say her piece. But considering the subject of her snooping was a man she plain as day had a crush on, Brukus doubted she would dare to be so direct.
“Cowboy, I just want you to be honest with her. Make up your mind and say if yah like her, or not. What you do is your call. Tell her nothing will happen and move on, or maybe open up a bit and see how things go,” Brukus said.
Luke scratched the back of his head, staring through the window, barely catching a glimpse of Morel’s tail tucking away. For the second time that day, he stopped overanalyzing. “Fine, I will think about it.”
Luke did think about it, well afterMorel returned and gave him an ice pack, and even after Brukus had returned home. Morel waited for him upstairs as he was ambling to his room for the night.
They paused, and looked at one another. The word they wanted to say itched at their minds, and danced just behind closed lips. But neither would say what both knew in their hearts, afraid the other would turn and run.
“Goodnight, Luke. Sleep well,” Morel smiled as softly as the flutter of a bark-moth wings.
Luke lay in bed that night, looking out at the freshly planted orchard. The moonlight dancing off the leaves, as a little fox prowled within the wan light; the wise creature once again, looked toward him, and stared back before flowing away gracefully beneath Luna’s light.
