“Maybe we’re shielded in the ship.”
“Bill, I think youre being conned. However, I do have concerns about the electromagnetism. I’ll order everybody confined to the ship if the electromagnetism reaches a certain level. But, we’re staying until Galactic Mining has finished their tests.”
***
Bill leaned back on a couple of stacked pillows on his bed and plucked away at “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” Earl Scruggs had written the bluegrass song for a movie years ago. Bill tried to remember the name. It was about Robin Hood bank robbers stealing from crooked banks.
He practiced his picking as much as his banjo stance. The seasoned banjo player didn’t prance about, drawing attention to himself. His fingers worked at lightning speed, like a summer cloudburst. But, the player’s genteel posture remained calm and polite, like a warm morning in North Carolina.
The airlock hissed open. Skaggs stormed inside. “Why in the hell did you get my miners confined to the ship at night? They have work to do.”
Bill put down the banjo. “I wanted to go back to Earth. Confining people to the ship was the Captain’s idea.”
Skaggs sneered. “What a surprise. The big brave professor wants to go home.”
Bill shrugged.
“Go complain to the Captain.”
“My problem’s with you. Listen, professor, you better convince the Captain to change her mind or I’ll file a report about you.”
Bill sat up on the edge of the bed.
“Report?”
Skaggs smiled.
“Yeah, pal. You probably didn’t know it, but Galactic wants me to report on everybody. Troublemakers aren’t allowed back on another Galactic ship.”
“I’m not a troublemaker.”
“Galactic wants these trips to make money. Losing hours of work every day because some fraidy cat thinks we’re in danger from electromagnetism is trouble Galactic doesn’t want.”
“The electromagnetism is dangerous.”
Skaggs rolled his eyes. “The engineers say it isn’t.”
Bill knew it would be a waste of time to reveal what he knew. Skaggs would just ridicule him. Instead he pointed to his laptop. “I write reports too. Maybe I’ll say you’re the problem.”
Skaggs snorted. “You think I really care what a bunch of damned intellectuals at some college think of me? If I had my way they’d shut those crapholes down.”
Bill didn’t doubt Skaggs had no use for education. “Since you don’t care, I’ll just write it anyway.”
“Yeah, well if I write enough about you, maybe you won’t get any credit for being here at all.
That happened a few missions back. Some longhaired college type came back and got arrested for not paying his student loans. Seems he wasn’t taking his research duties on the ship seriously enough.”
“Get out of my room,” Bill said.
***
Bill sat on a boulder that served as the front stoop for the church of Jugtown and played
“Foggy Mountain Breakdown.”
Old Earl rested beside him and did her best to keep up with the hambone that Bill had taught her. She did not have the energy of her younger self. She slapped her hands against her legs and chest, trying to maintain the beat of the tune, but it wasn’t as good as a few days before.
A young boy stopped in front of Earl and clicked his tongue and made a sound like a long low belch.
Earl clucked back and nodded.
The boy marched into the church and sat cross-legged. He picked up a gourd and blew into it, making a high pitched squeak.
Then with increased speed the boy picked up gourd after gourd, blowing into each one, making a range of sounds. The boy was playing “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.”
When Bill switched chords, the boy followed. It was a jam session. And then the boy started to lead, jumping quickly from chord to chord, almost too fast for Bill. The notes were strange, but deep in the music’s roots.
Bill wondered what it would be like to listen to music with elfen ears like the Carnegians. How much fuller and richer it must sound.
Like most banjo pickers, Bill played fast, because the plucky notes faded quickly with little resonance. One had to be replaced by another or there would be a break in the song. The noise of the gourds lingered, creating a rich tapestry of sound.
Finally Bill had to rest. He put the banjo on his lap and wiped sweat off his brow. He laughed. “What a hootenanny!” He ran up to the boy and stuck out his hand. “Nice playing, son.”
The boy stood up and walked away.
“That boy’s got some talent,” Bill said to Earl. “I didn’t know y’all could play.”
Earl smiled. “That boy is the oldest among us.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Bill whispered. “How old are you, Earl.”
Earl picked up the banjo and strummed it gently. “Old enough to know it would not be unjust for me to die in this form. I have lived several lives, far longer than I should.” She crinkled her nose. “A storm is coming.”
Bill looked up at the sky. Today there was not much fog, just blazing sun. He could see no clouds, just brilliant blue. “It looks fine.”
She pointed. “There.”
Bill squinted. He could see the faintest hint of color on the horizon. Tiny pops of red and blue and green shot up into the sky, like sparks from a burning log. The flashes were growing.
The storm must be coming closer. Bill pointed to the communal building behind them. “Should we go inside?”
“Return to your ship. Unless you want to switch. You might end up like me.”
Bill grabbed the banjo and ran onto the pathway.
***
A football field’s length from the ship, Skaggs blocked Bill’s way. He held a laptop. “Thought you might be coming back, you son of a bitch.”
Bill panted. “We need to get on the ship. It’s not safe out here.”
“Yeah, I know all about the electromagnetism. Captain ordered us all on board. Like I give a crap what a Captain has to say.”
The sky was a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors that seemed to push the extremes of the spectrum. Ocean blue. Sapphire. Blood red. “I don’t have time for this.” Bill tried to step around
Skaggs.