“You’re a businesswoman after my own heart,” Amity said. “I’d love to help with that.”
“Wonderful. I’d love to have help,” Darmaine replied. “Right now, it’s just a goal. Despite the current overabundance of fur, I’m limited by how much I can acquire. If you try to shear a wild horniger, you’re liable to get the horn. So, few folks are willing to attempt it. Hence, domestication of the animal is critical to fabric production—one example of how everything is interlinked. Anyway, I’ve rambled on enough.
“Are you ready to learn how to use a spindle and loom?”
“I am!”
The day sped by. Darmaine first taught her how to use the spinning wheel and twist fur into yarn. Amity found out fur shipments went to the robo laundry for cleaning before they received them. That came as a relief. Something was mechanized! Given the primitiveness of the planet, she half expected to have to beat the fur against a rock in a creek somewhere.
The hours flew by, and soon she was dashing to the mess hall for lunch. Not seeing any of her friends, she wolfed down a solitary meal then headed to the mercantile.
Like an old-time general store, the commissary sold clothes, groceries, tools, grain, even live birds. She browsed through racks of utilitarian clothing, making note of several items to buy when she got her first creds. Down another aisle, she spotted cups and plates that might have come from the pottery shop.
Faith’s stuff is nicer.Already an experienced potter, her friend wouldn’t have any trouble assimilating into her work assignment, but Amity wondered how the men were faring at the woodshop. She doubted either of them had carpentry experience. They were in the same boat as she.
She looked forward to finding out how Marshall’s day had gone.Just like a regular married couple.
No, likefriends, she amended. She ignored the little pang and continued exploring the store. She found gray yarn skeins,woven gray blankets, and bolts of gray fabric. Gray, gray, gray. She could understand why Darmaine would wish to try dyeing. Could they maybe bleach the fur first? Would it hold the dye better? Of course, on this planet, dye probably had to be derived from berries or horniger poop.
A small section of the store was reserved for trading, where people could swap an item they didn’t need, for one they did. There was a pair of newish boots that fit. Score! She had the green-haired alien proprietor hold them while she dashed to the cabin to retrieve the pair that didn’t and returned to exchange them.
With a skip in her step and much warmer toes, she departed the shop wearing her new-to-her mid-calf, fur-lined boots.
Back at work, Darmaine put her on the loom, threaded with yarn and ready to go. “We’ll save setup for another day. Don’t want to overload you,” her boss said and then gave her a brief tutorial on the weaving process. Brief for Darmaine anyway.
Sitting side by side, each on their loom, they spent the afternoon weaving and talking.
“How did you and your husband meet?” Darmaine asked.
“He came into the pottery shop my friend and I owned on Terra Nova.” She chose her words carefully, unsure how much she should reveal. They were safe on Refuge, free from retaliation by Dark Ops. However, she worried about Marshall’s expectations. They were getting along, and she wished to avoid jeopardizing their fragilefriendship. That pang again.
“Pottery shop, huh? Lucento probably would have put you there, except I’d demanded that the next new resident be assigned to help weave.” Darmaine sighed. “If you’d prefer pottery, I’ll talk to my husband.”
“No, no. I want to be here!” Amity assured her, realizing she really did. “I’m going to enjoy this.” And she liked her boss.
“Great! I’m so glad.” Darmaine beamed a bright smile. They worked in silence for a while, Amity focusing on the weaving, gaining satisfaction as cloth materialized.
“You’re doing well! Like an old pro!” Darmaine encouraged her.
“I’m not very fast,” she said. The alien woman produced twice the cloth in half the time.
“For your first day? Your first time weaving? You’re doing phenomenally. You’ve picked it up much faster than I did.”
“Thank you.” Her confidence rose at the praise.
“What brought you to Refuge, if I may ask?”
The billion-cred question. “I learned information I wasn’t supposed to know, which put a target on me. How about you?”
“I spoke out against my government. They charged me with treason and sentenced me to death.”
“How did you break away?”
“Lucento was a prison guard who was sweet on me; he’d slip me extra rations, allow me longer shower time. When my execution date was scheduled, he helped me escape. That, of course, put him in jeopardy. We were fugitives. It was touch and go until our asylum request came through.”
“You and Lucento aren’t the same species.”
“No. He was an off-world hire. My planet outsourced much of its labor. After he rescued me, I had a major case of hero worship—and then I fell in love with him. He said he’d already fallen in love with me—which inspired him to risk his life to save me.”
