"As a species, our psychology is at odds with our civilisation. We are still a prey species, but we operate beneath a predator's mentality."
(from Deconstructing Homo sapiens) Simon Villiers
Spacers always refer to arrival on a planet as 'landfall'. Not really appropriate on Hasket, where all the designated landing pads are situated out on pontoons, stabilised rafts protected within barrier walls. Splashdown just sounds wrong. Actual land on the planet is too valuable to waste. There are living areas, swathes given over to agriculture... and the gardens. Matriarchy place a lot of meaning in gardens and give up a great deal of ground to cultivate them. Factories are hidden out of sight; formal and informal gardens dominate.
I got taken to several formal gardens while I was on Home. They're places for quiet contemplation, serious discussion, lovers' trysts. On Home, situated for convenience under a geodesic dome overgrown with climbing vines and epiphytes, is the Garden of Council, where the Circle of Mothers meet to deal with matters affecting their race. And now ours.
I didn't get to see a Haeme session. While they let me view the dome and natural terraces that lay beneath, there were only gardeners present – males, overseen by junior Maidens where strict etiquette made it necessary.
It was also one of those rare occasions I got to spend with Angelina. For most of our time on Home she'd been hidden away with the Mothers. Same on the ship. Here, on Hasket, she was granted a period for solitary contemplation. In need of some simple, human conversation, I butted-in on her alone-time.
She was sitting on a stone bench, eyes closed, muttering weird noises to herself. She most definitely needed company. Her eyes opened as I took an intentional heavy step.
'Colourful.' I gestured at the rioting plants. OK, so I'm no smooth-talker. Give me a break, I've been trying to wrap my limited intellect around the intricacies of an alien civilisation and still retain my sanity.
'Very.'
Oh, great. She's in a talkative mood! I try again.
'Guess that they would like plants, what with them being herbivores.'
'Frugivores. The ancestral matriarchy ate fruit. And nuts. Mainly fruit.'
Seated on a stone bench, Angel is forced to look up at me, so I sit on the other end of the bench. 'Fruit?'
'And nuts. That's why they have those canine-looking teeth. Their ancestors used them to strip the husks off their favoured food. It was apple-sized, but had a tough outer rind covered in matted fibres. Looked almost like a small coconut. The flesh was high in carbohydrates, the seeds were protein-rich.'
'What'd it taste like?'
'I've never eaten one, but I've been told they're unbelievably sweet to the human palate.'
We continued like that for nearly an hour, inconsequential, but a delight given that I still struggled to hold any kind of conversation with either the males or females on board. By the end, even Angel had started to relax and smile. I know I'm an outsider, probably even to Angel; always have been. I try, just can't get on with people. That's why I never rose through the ranks as a pilot. Out here though, I don't have to compete with other humans who just want to score points – the matriarchy see ability, have no interest in game-players.
Our business on Hasket was just re-supply, fresh food and water, to supplement that already stored aboard, though it gave S'ket time with the senior Mothers of the colony. Matriarchy in conclave can talk for hours. I'd wandered the grounds, spoken to Angel, eaten in a small refectory with members of the crew, wandered some more and ended by walking back to the Knife. Alone.
