Free Elysium. Part Two by Kelvin James Roper Page B

What’s this all about, Mr. Tupper?’
    Semilion had simply said he intended to begin a new routine of patrols, just to be safe. Robin and Jeremy scratched their chins and thought little more of it as they left.
    The static in his ears was ghostly; a nuclear wind howling, racing toward him. After a time though, with his lamp flickering gently, the steady hiss almost sent him to sleep. An echo of music or a reminder of speech from some drifting signal would wrench him back alert, disappointed it was not Dr. Camberwell.
    He had waited for over an hour with no sign of the shipping forecast. He hoped Guliven had reached him and extracted more information, and yet had received no word as yet.
    He was, a month later, desperately confused about the former report. The code for storm-front was only supposed to be used after a series of other codes, and yet those had been missing. Either the ‘storm-front’ had risen so swiftly that there had been no chance to apply the prefix codes, or it meant something else altogether. He supposed the latter as the two scouting missions had unearthed nothing, nothing but lights and Blackeye’s on the moors. He ran his hand over his eyes and sighed. What did it all mean? He eased the headphones off and lit his sixth cigarette of the sitting. He couldn’t abandon the radio, not with the enigmas of the previous report ringing in his mind.
    He should have called a meeting with the community council already. He had to hold a council. He must. And yet...
    As he stared at the dusty cement between the floor-tiles, he was wrenched back to his childhood, and the conflict that had arisen between his grandfather and the inhabitants of Lundy.
    The union of the communities had been spoken of for years, since he could ever remember, and had always been regarded as a lofty vision that could never actually happen. The reasons from both communities were numerous and constant, though gradually the few who wanted a single colony negotiated and compromised until there were few excuses left to deny them.
    A deal was struck on Semilion’s tenth birthday. He recalled how his father had missed the celebrations. He recalled the flotilla of boats arriving on a mild and moonless night. Hands running through his hair as strangers passed him on the beach.
    The governor of Lundy, a broad and bearded mariner by the name of Red Sawbone, remained behind with his elderly mother and his two young boys. A grand house had been refurbished for him overlooking an expanse of Woolacombe Beach, a gesture grudgingly carried out by Semilion’s grandfather, Carrick, who bore a life-long animosity for Red after a trivial confrontation in Red’s youth. Red had long ago attempted to appease Carrick, though Carrick hoarded grudges like treasure.
    Eighteen families migrated from Lundy, and were given homes in the Woolacombe district, and for several months little changed other than the newfound glee of conversing with strangers. Friendships formed fluidly as each community shared their knowledge regarding various tasks, and gatherings became enriched with Lundian tales and songs.
    Nine months passed by, and Carrick grew increasingly frustrated on hearing villagers exchanging their thoughts on how difficult it must have been for Red to break up his community so soon after the death of his wife, Harriet, and how lonely he must have grown after the death of his mother. How hard must it be for him to raise two boys alone, with only the few remaining Lundians to offer any support.
    These thoughts burned in Carrick, and his already dark view of Lundians grew darker still. He began to blame them for frivolous occurrences. A blight of carrot-fly, a meagre harvest, a lame calf; all these things would have been rectified had it been left in the hands of a Mortehoe farmer, Carrick seethed. His aggravation, left unchecked, turned to unbridled rage when he discovered a Lundian boy had pushed a cow over in the night and broken its hind leg. The beast had