brand new colony

It's almost sunset when they finally find themselves on their own front porch, overnight bags over their shoulders; neither of them has a vast store of personal effects, and most of their clothing and their scant furniture was sent on ahead; less replaceable things are still in secure storage in the capital. The house itself is mud-brick and timber, like most of the town. Off to the side is the promised outbuilding, constructed of ugly corrugated sheeting.

Eluned draws a long breath, glancing up at her husband with what might be mistaken for a disapproving look. "I'd say you ought to carry me over the threshold, but I dunno as I trust the floor that far."

Gadriet has only been married for six months, and in those six months he has very carefully avoided telling his wife anything about his past--the other boys from Manassah are much more talkative, and if she has questions Gahareth or Geffreyn are quick to answer them, shoving their way eagerly into conversations. And as long as they avoid the subject, things are all right. The wallpaper, a desperate and expensive bid to shut the walls up by smothering them to death, is already starting to fade with the dusty winds that manage to work their way through every house and street in Bredigan. He doesn't mind that the pattern is slowly disappearing.

He works in and out of the clinic all day, mostly house calls but a decent amount of time preparing vaccines, preventatives, and treatments from his small stock of animal medicine. In the evenings he helps Eluned close up the pharmacy, then helps again while she makes dinner. If the walls start screaming at him, as they do sometimes, he turns amorous, coaxing her to bed to drown out the noise.

This afternoon he finishes his work in the clinic earlier than usual--there were a few cows calving, but all the births went smoothly, more smoothly than he expected, and now he's home already. It feels like he's been walking through high-gravity atmo all day, pulling at his feet and keeping his steps heavy; he looks down at himself and realises his labcoat is covered in dried blood and amniotics. He takes it off.

You like that blood, don't you? You wish it was her blood. You'd like to kill her--in that coat. You like to kill her and see her blood all over the ground. Remember when she was watching you? She's still watching you. She stands by your bed at night. You touch your wife with the same hands that want to kill her. You want more blood.

It's slightly different from usual, but it's still the litany. The walls are stirred up over something, more insistent. Gadriet sighs and uncaps the white plastic bottle in his pocket, and takes a long cold drink of the iso. It burns his nose and mouth, but it gets him drunk and high at the same time, and if he doesn't take too much then it won't kill him, won't kill him yet. He pulls the chair out from the prep table and sits down, takes another drink. Too much, probably. Time is passing. The blood on his labcoat is full of microscopic bacteria that could enter his system and kill him, or go to war with the whispers under his skin. Another drink. The walls are starting to slur and deaden.

He's not sure what time it is. He'll have to go help Eluned soon. He always helps her close up. If he doesn't come she'll wonder why. More time. He drinks again. He should do something to get rid of the smell--if she smells it on his breath she'll ask questions. He can't answer her questions. He can't explain about the walls (which, thank God, have dulled to a background static that doesn't form coherent words, no more disapproving mutters of filthy you're filthy filthy). But if he doesn't go in now she'll wonder what's keeping him.

Gadriet takes one last drink and pushes himself to his feet--his legs aren't working properly--and makes it as far as the connecting door between the clinic and the house before he falls, catching himself on the doorframe. He needs to open that door. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks: Eluned would have to be bái chī not to notice something's wrong with you, you bastard.

But she's not. She's perfect. He leans in the doorway, shaking.

At eight o'clock Eluned locks up: first the cupboards and cases at the back of the shop, then the door to the street and the connecting door between the pharmacy and the office at the back. Last she turns on the alarm that will wake her (if not her husband) in case of a break-in, and heads upstairs.

They used to close up together, but over time Gadriet's hours have grown less reliable, along with his state of mind. She's not expecting much tonight.