Free Skykeep by Joseph R. Lallo

said,
working industriously to dislodge a piece of his lunch from his
teeth. “Hey, listen. I was thinking maybe a poem.”
    Gunner stopped tinkering and looked up. “What
in the world are you talking about?”
    “For Nita. She likes art and all that. I’m
going to buy her something nice, but I know it’ll mean more if I
make her something. I can’t paint worth a lick, or draw. I could
play the spoons, or maybe dig out my harmonica, but that doesn’t
seem like it’d impress her much. But poems aren’t so bad. I could
write a poem. Do you think she’d like that?”
    “I need to be certain I understand this
correctly. You are going to attempt to win Nita’s heart with a
poem.”
    “Not win her heart. Just sort of let her know
I might be after it. But why not a poem? Don’t Calderans like
poems?”
    Gunner sighed. “This may come as a surprise
to you, but a single set of likes, dislikes, and behaviors cannot
be applied universally to an entire society. Nita, you’ll notice,
is quite different from the typical Calderan as we’ve come to know
them. But since I’m not certain there is room in your head to
accept people as individuals, let us assume that your premise here
applies. Yes. Calderans like poems. They like them so much
that some Calderans devote their lives to poetry. They spend hours
a day ruminating on the very nature of language. Months are spent
attempting to craft the perfect verse and experimenting with
different meters.”
    “So you’re saying she’ll like it,” Coop
said.
    Gunner sighed more heavily. “Yes, Coop. If
you are able to write a beautiful poem, I am sure she will like
it.”
    “That shouldn’t be too hard. It just has to
rhyme, right?”
    “Poetry need not necessarily rhyme, no.”
    “… Well, then how do you know it’s even
poetry?”
    “If you can’t tell if something is a poem,
then it isn’t a poem. And may I ask how you intend to write a poem
when you can barely write your own name?”
    “I don’t figure I’ll have to write my name in
a poem, Gunner. Oh, ’cept at the end, so’s people can tell who
wrote it.”
    Gunner shook his head and turned back to his
work. “Coop, something tells me regardless of what you come up
with, people are going to be able to tell who wrote it.”
    #
    Nita and Lil had been making good progress.
Despite taking time to make sure Lil understood each step, most of
the smaller assemblies were already together after just a few
hours. They were just preparing to tackle the safety mechanisms
when their food arrived, along with a basin of water and some clean
towels to wash up.
    “I’ll tell you what,” Lil mumbled, her mouth
filled to bursting with the fourth big bite of sandwich. “These
Lock folk sure know how to pack a meal.” She washed the mouthful
down with a sip of milk. “Ah… you can just feel it doing you
good.”
    Nita took a sip. From her expression, she was
less convinced. “It’s definitely… different.”
    “Oh, you just gotta get used to it. This
stuff puts meat on you.” She crunched into the sandwich. “I tell
you. If Butch could get her hands on a proper kitchen and some good
fresh stuff like this, she’d have a restaurant with a line out the
door.”
    “It’s true.” She took another small sip and
gathered her thoughts. “I’ve got to say, and forgive me if it
sounds rude, but I didn’t think very highly of the crew when I
first met you all.”
    Lil shrugged. “There ain’t too many high
thoughts to be had about us.”
    “But you’ve all struck me with your skills
and your work ethic. I wish I could see what any one of you could
accomplish if you didn’t have to spend so much time shuttling from
place to place and just trying to stay alive.”
    “All of us? I mean, Gunner’s educated and all
that. And the cap’n a cap’n. Butch’s good with food and
stitching folks up. But what about me and Coop?” Lil asked. “We
don’t do nothing but what we’re told. What could we do?”
    “Lil,