Dragons and Stars, Chapter 9: The Old Timers Come

“I’m John Washer,” said Uncle John, standing and offering his hands to Mrs. Silver.

“And I’m Hannah Silver,” she said, shaking his two hands with hers. “I’m so very, very pleased to meet you! It’s a wonderful blessing to be here at Providence. And you have a very special son, Mr. Washer.”

“Everyone here calls me Uncle John, or John,” he said. He looked at Neal proudly. “He’s actually my nephew, but he’s growing into a good man. When he’s not fighting,” he added, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh my!” she said, staring at Neal. “What happened to you!?” She hurried around the table to cluck over his bluish eyes and hear the story. “That poor boy, Mirk,” she said, looking sad. Neal didn’t feel very sorry for Mirk.

“Grummel,” she said, “You didn’t introduce me yet. Is this your father?”

“Oh, yeh,” said Grummel. “This here’s me old dad.”

MacHardy stood up, nearly overturning the table. He bowed awkwardly.

“I, er, yes, um,” he said.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Mrs. Silver, offering her hands to him. MacHardy stared at her hands for an awkward minute. Then he hurriedly seized both her hands in his great paws and shook them silently.

She smiled sweetly back at him. MacHardy continued to stand, staring silently at her. Neal saw Grummel shift and kick his dad’s leg under the table. “Oof! Er, quite nice to…” MacHardy mumbled, nodding his head and sitting back down.

Mrs. Silver laughed at him. “You are a dear,” she said. “Oh, Mr. John,” she said, turning to Uncle John. “Grummel took me to see the Old Timers earlier this evening. They are such lovely people! They requested if they could come for a visit this evening?”

“I believe that could be arranged,” he said.

* * *

After everyone had finished eating, Uncle John stood up.

“The Old Timers wonder if they can come join us for the Ev’ing Tales,” he announced to the other tables. “Please finish your drinks and prepare for zero g’s.” Several miners took a last swig from their cups as Uncle John pulled a radio from his pocket and punched a button.

“Providence Living Cylinder, this is John Washer. We are going to zero G’s for an evening visit from the Old Timers. Please secure any objects you don’t want floating in the next sixty seconds.” “Neal,” he said, turning to him and handing him a key, “Please go shut down the cylinder g’s.” “Yes, sir,” said Neal, heading for a ladder, proud for the task.

Neal floated down the cylinder shaft to the inner control room hatch ten feet lower. As he was unlocking the hatch, Hanna exited her hatch fifty feet below him. “Hi,” she called up the shaft, pushing off and up towards him. “Hi,” he said. “The old timers want to come for a visit.” Hanna joined him as he opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder into the cramped control room. Technically, Hanna wasn’t supposed to be in this room, but Uncle John was lax on laws where Hanna was concerned. He trusted her as his own daughter.

Neal opened a control box and pulled the G lever down to zero. The living cylinder’s spin wheels engaged their brakes gradually and the huge cylinder began to slow its rotation. After a minute it had fully stopped and Neal felt himself drifting up off the floor of the control room. He and Hanna didn’t bother to climb the ladder, instead pushing off the floor and out the hatch.

Back in the dining room, Neal and Hanna drifted over to Grummel.

“Ach,” said Grummel. “Me dad’s twitter-pated.” Hanna looked at MacHardy, floating above the fastened table. His large legs stuck out as he twirled slowly, trying to comb his hair with a tiny comb. “It’s sad,” said Neal. Hanna stared and burst into laughter.

They worked their way over to a wall of the room where some sofas were fastened to the floor. Several miners had strapped themselves into the sofas, while others floated overhead or nearby. On the wall a monitor played a video hologram of a crackling fire. Hanna went to the wall and dimmed the other lights. Just then the hatch in the central shaft opened and a very old face peered through. “May we come in?” a creaky old voice asked. “Certainly, certainly,” said Uncle John and several others. Some gave up their seats on the sofas. Others unclipped chairs and reclipped them behind the sofas. Neal and Hanna and Grummel preferred to float up to the ceiling and rest there with their backs against the ceiling in the flickering firelight.

The old timers, six or seven of them, came gently through the hatch and to the sofas. They were strangely tall and thin. Living their entire lives without weight or gravity, their bones had grown in strange shapes and lengths. Most were seven or eight feet tall, but thin as skeletons. There was a quietness and fragility to them, but a peace, too.

“Thenk ye, thenk ye,” said one old lady as she accepted a chair. Despite their age, however, they had few wrinkles, since gravity had missed the chance to make them sag. Their skin was loose but smooth, giving their faces a soft roundness almost like babies–babies with gray hair. They settled quietly into their places, looking very pleased and satisfied by the cozy gathering. The miners’ quiet conversations and chatting picked up again in little pockets. Mrs. Silver sat in a chair next to the old timer lady who had spoken earlier and belted herself in.

“How long have you lived here?” asked Mrs. Silver.

“Wahl, let me see,” said the old woman in a soft crooning voice. “Me mother gave birth to me on a freighter travelling from The Moon on towards Ceres. I cam’ here to Eros when I were five. I’ve lived at here since that vera’ day.”

“What stories you must have!” said Mrs. Silver. “Can you tell us one?”

“But o’ course,” the old woman said, thinking.

The other miners quieted and turned to listen to the first “tale of the eve’ing.”