Free Winter Song by Colin Harvey Page A

cagily, "They're people who assumed that I was hostile. It's complicated. There are a lot of factions in a big sky."
        "Were they Shapers?" Luckily, Karl saw Ragnar's lips shape "Formers" so ignored his idiot companion's urge to translate words even when they were common to both languages.
        "Terraformers? No."
        "Are you?"
        "I'm…" Karl paused, working out how to explain it. "My conglomerate – clan, that is – uses Terraforming to an extent. But it's expensive, and takes constant, ah, working on to stop the world reverting to its default state. That's what happened to the people who founded Isheimur. They went bankrupt in the Long Night, and their assets were sold off. No one would take on this project. I'm sorry."
        Ragnar looked oddly satisfied at the news that the colony had been abandoned. "We'll have to work out what to do with you."
        Karl wondered how his family were, how he could send a signal. He wished that Ship had had the time to download more than basic information – he had no idea how much this world had devolved. The silence of the colony couldn't be taken as a sign that they'd lost all tech, especially as Ship's records hadn't even shown that Isheimur had survived.
        But was he simply wishing for a happy ending? The Galaxy was vast: it was easy to forget that when crossing from fold-point to fold-point, squeezing a journey of years at sub-light into weeks between each star-system's nexus.
        Any signals from Isheimur were probably being transmitted to what was now empty space; current nexi would be unknown to the Isheimuri, while those stations at nexi utilised by Isheimur's Formers were probably now disused.
        A knock interrupted Karl's thoughts.
        Ragnar, who had silently watching Karl called, "Come!"
        Bera held out a metre-long stick that was gnarled, but arrow-straight. "It's been used by Olders before," she said. "I found it in the lobby. It might prove useful."
        Ragnar said, "Take it. Go to lunch. Meet the others." He returned to his papers.
        Karl tried not to feel like a fool as he pulled himself into a standing position. When he took his first step he was grateful for the stick, which stopped him falling flat on his face.
        Bera offered him her arm, though Karl saw her hesitate, and wondered why. As he wrapped his left arm around her right, she flinched – only slightly, but he felt it. Has she been told to be friendly to me? Is she scared of me? Because I'm a stranger?
        He also wondered why he was so sensitive to her. He tried not to feel unfaithful to Karla and Lisane in noticing how pretty she was beneath the camouflage of grime and messiness and her squint. He resolved to offer nothing that might reveal any attraction; he would be correct, but cool, and hope that that would work. Hell, for all you know, not making an advance toward her might give offence.
        Karl drew back from the throng milling around in the long, low room, but Bera gripped his arm. The mob was so busy talking, and shoving each other out of the way to place dishes of meat, bread, eggs and pitchers of drink on the table, that for several seconds they didn't notice him.
        Karl watched the women, Ragnar's daughters and daughter-in law bicker. Thorbjorg had changed her dress into something that highlighted a clearly defined waist separating an ample bust and backside, and coloured ribbons now bedecked her hair. Asgerd had done something to her lips that made them look beestung and highlighted her fine cheekbones. Only Hilda remained unchanged. Through the adults a half-dozen children weaved, dancing and flitting like a shoal of minnows, helping the adults or chasing one another depending on their age.
        Asgerd saw Karl and her lips parted in a smile. The others followed her gaze and falling silent, swung round. "Come join us," Asgerd said.
        "Can I help?" Karl chin-cocked the laden