Spring Cleaning

"They're up there, all right."

"Are you real sure of that? It might've been them boreal lights--it's about the right time for 'em, though a little early, I presume."

"Damn right I am, Gord!"

Sheriff Davis poked his finger at the shoreline. "I know the spring sky when I see it, and it weren't them. Nope, I saw 'em, shinin' prit-near where the sun sets--thataway, toward the water. I counted 13 of 'em in all. No doubt about it, it's spring cleaning time."

It was always hard to detect anything revealing in Gordie McCormack's inscrutable face, but the tone of his gravelly voice belied unusual concern. "If we got 13 new stars shinin' all of a sudden, then we surely got trouble again. It's been more than 40 seasonal turns since their last visit; that time the scourers swept in from thataway--and everybody knows they usually hit in the springtime."

Gordie considered a new thought: "Come to think of it, that'd account for why the Tech-Traders didn't show to set up their winter market. It'd seem things are linin' up right for a big kerfuffle."

His teenage daughter, Kela, frowned, "Right for what?"

"Right for a Survive, eh? For while The Good Rithm is bein' fulfilled," said the ever-grumpy Sheriff Davis.

Both men were elders in the High Dozen, overseers of the coastal municipal, West Lake--"population prit-near 400, third-highest on the Peninsula," at least by Gordie's reckoning. He was the current Monarch--having succeeded his wife, Betty, in the office--a fact Kela was proud of, despite her apparent disinterest while in their presence.

"So what are we gonna do?" Kela's insouciance was revealed when she tipped her head to swipe her shoulder-length hair away from her sun-browned, mosquito-bitten face. She kept catching herself scratching the violations, and picking at roseolar patches of acne-pocked skin. She turned her attention to a soft ash flake she had pulled from her hair. She pressed it between her thumb and forefinger. "No matter how much I brush, I never can get all this soot out."

Gordie gave up on her and turned to Davis. "Too bad it's been so overcast and foggy. I'd like to show everybody them stars--it'd help me convince 'em we got a crisis. No matter, I'm callin' an emergency council to propose we gather our durables fast as can be. I suspect we should head about 20 klicks inland, prit-near where the Glenora municipal used to be. That site got scoured last time. I'm hopin' maybe this go-round the Rithm servos won't be nosin' around those parts. We'll shelter in them deep caves we prepped near Beaver Meadows--that swamp throws off methane, so our emits could be mistook for natural there."

Gordie patted his daughter's shoulder "You've already been on a Survive, Kel--it was when yer mamma was carryin' ya. We used the caves then, and might've been spotted by the Rithm's scourers if they came our way--but we lucked out, even if we lost the original West Lake muni. We were damn lucky! I'm hoping things go that way again, right sheriff?"

"The last Balance Restoration was a good number of turns ago, Kel--and out of younger folks recollect, eh?"

Kela did not like Davis much. There was something about the way he would look her over when he spoke to her. She had learned about Survives, but never gave it a second thought.

"How long do we gotta stay, dad?"

Gordie pulled at his chin. "It could go for prit-near two turns or so; some have stretched four. I'm hopin' we traded for enough ammo for the guards; and we got all them eat paks. We were smart enough to stock 10 charged supercapacitors, so we'll have heat and light without needin' fires--their emits would be a sure giveaway, no doubt. But sad to say, it's too late to save anything else. And speakin' of emissions, we'll release the livestock; maybe we can gather the survivors after this is passed ..."

"If there are any," Davis said. "Seems every time the Rithm comes callin', it gets better at what it does, eh? And might be we didn't do as good a job camouflaging as we fancied. It seems nobody took these matters so serious, eh?"

"But dad, how are you so sure they're comin'--whoever 'they' is?"

"If Davis here saw them new stars, then surely they've seen us. Sorry daughter, you might as well kiss West Lake good-bye."

"You mean we ain't comin' back home?"

"Nope. Not to this site, or to these growfields, eh? If those lights are up there, we're as good as tagged for spring cleanin'. It's the Rithm fulfilling what's called PANDECT ONE--It's what's written down. C'mon, Kel, it's your municipal duty to learn it to heart."

"But what about my beehives?"

As usual, Kela was a hard-sell--and Gordie did not have the time. He addressed Davis, hoping his daughter would stick around to listen. "Nope, now that it's seen our transgressions, it won't stop scrubbin' until it restores the Balance, eh?"

Gordie honed his strategy: "After the Survive we'll have to migrate ... maybe up the Peninsula way past Cherry Valley ... at least till we find a good place to restart our muni ... can't wander too far from the shoreline though, seein' how we'll have to depend on fishin' until we replant ... You're right, sheriff, next go-round we're gonna have to better hide our emittin' to deke 'em out, eh?"

"Them Traders have masker gizmos," Davis said, "but those bastards will squeeze us for a high price."

Kela fanned herself, then slapped her arm. Following the winter monsoons, the thick humidity felt more like summer, and the skeetos were hatching with a vengeance. The early heat harkened the coming torrid weather.

"Dad, yer talkin' at yerself again."

Gordie's put his hand on Kela's shoulder. He was proud of his only child. "You're gettin' taller than me, daughter, but not wiser yet. Survives are life-and-death!" He softened his tone. "Don't you worry, eh--there'll be lots to do. We have more than three turns' worth of supplies stored--and your teachers will make sure young folks can keep learnin'. Your mother and I are Monarchs who think ahead."

He winked at Davis, "We sure do, eh?"

"It's like this, daughter: We learned from the last spring cleaning and bought enough lume lights at the Trader markets, so you can see enough to read the PANDECT there. I'd say, it's about time you learned for yourself about our beliefs. You're gettin' to be a woman now, Kel. Your mom might even wanna tell you about those things they don't teach you at school, because--well, er, we'll have abundant time when we're settled in."

Kela was thoroughly enjoying her father's awkwardness about sex. He was such a know-it-all, especially after taking over as Monarch from her mom last election. She pressed her

advantage. "Yeah, maybe I can teach you a few things, Gordie." She squelched her urge to grin.

Kela's attempt to annoy him failed--Gordie was dictating to Davis the latter's role in the evacuation. He had avoided mentioning that Survives were far from a sure thing. During his lifetime he had seen many Peninsula settlements disappear, never to be rebuilt. Also, Davis was right about the Rithm getting smarter--during the last visit it reclaimed just about every municipal on the Peninsula. With too many casualties to count, and subsequent loss of livestock and crops, only a quarter of the munis had been reestablished since then.

Gordie took another shot at appeasing his daughter. "Besides, Kel, all yer pals will be at the Survive. It'll be lots of fun, eh?"

Kela's frown at his awkward reassurance fell flat. She knew him enough to sense he had not even convinced himself their community would get through this.

***

Dank and depressing--shadow-lit only by milky lume light--Kela's cave existence conjured escapist daydreams and too-real nightmares. At night she tossed and turned on her hard mat, idealizing the joys West Lakers had abandoned. She craved

whiffs of warm cornbread, the caress of cool breezes, dangling her toes in trickling streams, morning birdsong and moonlit cricket choruses. Cave time crawled slower than the honey she should have been harvesting.

Every evening, Gordie held court in the central chamber with the other High Dozen elders.

Although she watched from afar, Kela knew what they were yappin' about: the winters gettin' cooler since they were young; their diatribes always ending with, "Thanks be to The Good Rithm."

Kela noticed how gray her dad's "Survive beard" had become, and she knew she had been hard on him--she even felt a pang of sympathy.

After a few rounds of beer, Gordie stood, hoisted his mug and triumphantly bellowed for all to hear: "Fellow West Lakers! We've now survived half the spring turn!"

As his call-out echoed throughout the cave, it was met with cheers. Kela could not bear it. She shouted back: "I don't know how long I can take it! Why did this have to happen? Everything was so nice the way it was." When inebriated, Gordie would wrinkle his brow, accentuating his weathered wrinkles. "Because that's the way we've always done it, Kel."

He sighed, "Why don't ya trust me? Aren't ya reading PANDECT ONE, like I told ya to?"

"It don't matter, all you keep sayin' is it'll tell about this mess way better than you could--Gordieee." She knew he hated when she called him by name--especially when she exaggerated it.

"Since when was 'everything so nice the way it was'? I recall you were always grousin' about somethin' back home--Ke-laaa." Eyebrows arched, arms outstretched, palms upturned, he tried to beat Kela at her own game. But when it came to sarcasm, she was a grand master.

Eyeing the other elders' reactions to his humiliation, Kela walked away, careful not to push him too far.

He started to follow her, but Davis restrained him, and Gordie settled down. With another swig of beer, he resumed jawin' about "the olden days." He loved spinning stories about his adventures.

When Kela wandered back she was invited to join the circle, and was offered a half-filled mug of beer. Her father was launching his favorite tale, about when he and Davis were her age they left home on a long-distance canoe trip that followed the Great Freshwater coast, way past Northumberland even. They paddled for days--way sundown-ward, "as far as the water went."

Kela rolled her eyes. When Gordie said they came to the end of the water, she thought: "Bunk! Anybody could see the Freshwater don't end--it goes over the edge of the world."

The yarn grew more fantastic: Gordie claimed that after days of travel they portaged inland and came to a wide, hard road cluttered with rusty metal carts holding bones--people's.

"The trail led us to a wider road, but eventually it stopped followin' the ground. We saw what was left of it was suspended above us on stone columns--but we had no way of gettin on top of it, so we walked under them and into a giant municipal.

Kela had heard this one too many times. Sometimes when he'd tell it, he reckoned the place was as big as 20 times the size of New Picton--the biggest muni on the Mainland. Other times, he had its area spreading over 60 growfields. The place was filled far as the eye could see with giant stone and glass shelters--way taller than the trees--and also loaded with skeletons.

Each time he or Davis retold the biggest adventure of their lives, they had been given to exaggerate, but some things remained consistent:

They always mentioned a wrecked tower that might've reached the clouds when it stood. "Prit-near into the sky!" Gordie would raise his arms above his head every telling.

They also claimed the giant municipal seemed like it had gotten a spring cleaning, but the place might have been too huge for a total Restore. He figured the Rithm must've scoured the people and left it to grow over naturally; but it was a mystery why they hadn't evacuated to a Survive.

"It was a dead place," Gordie would always say. "The rubble went on and on. It gave me jitters--and it took us some time to get our asses out of that tech-age shit-stain."

Kela knew her father was drunk when he became animated and stopped watching his language. Struggling to stand, he fell backward. Davis broke his fall. Settling back, he continued.

They returned to the Freshwater and rowed through twisted metal wreckage and giant sunken boats. Eventually they had to portage again, carrying their canoe through the streets of other munis--just as dead, but none as overwhelming as the first. "It slowed us, and when we saw a pack of hungry wolves comin' at us from one of those shelters, we dropped the fuckin' canoe like a red-hot poker and ran like hell! We had to fight 'em off with the paddles to fetch our canoe back!"

Davis continued: "We stayed along the shoreline and eventually got back to forestland. We came to a wide, fast river flowin' into the Freshwater."

Hiking upriver, the trail took them along the rim of a deep gorge carved by frothing jade-green rapids and a violent whirlpool that flowed from a giant horseshoe-shaped waterfall. Gord had heard about this from his great-grandma--a place the olden indigenies called the N'agra.

They portaged around the cataract, upriver farther south--enough to see it flowed out from another freshwater. On the opposite shore there was another ruined giant muni; all around them strange flowers grew beneath slim, scaly trees, "with leaves lookin' like your fingers sprouting outta your palms," Davis recalled.

Kela groaned. She could not buy the idea of another Freshwater.

Gordie added: "It was still hot enough up in these regions in them days when those tree palms took to growin'--a few even here in our Peninsula. But the Rithm has been workin' its wonders, an' things have been coolin' down province-wide. I hear from the munis way up northway toward the Georgian Bay that they even saw water turn white and hard--something they call 'froost'--last winter turn."

The circle responded with awe, further encouraging Gordie. Kela knew she was about to be sucked into another long,

intoxicated ramble when he started with, "Then there was the time we ..."

She nipped it in the bud, announcing to all: "Hey everybody, I'm getting through the PANDECT. It ain't exactly interesting."

Annoyed at being blindsided, Gordie pointed at his daughter, slurring, "You're hard-headed girl! Ya never take serious things serious. This is how everything was made right. Ya know, Kel," he sighed, "I don't think you've read one word of it, eh?"

Kela would not admit that although she had skipped the manifesto's jargony text, she had gobbled up its fantastic accounts of the Technogenic Explosion that created it--a magical age of flying machines, talking picture boxes, fantasy parks and spectacular games; it talked of thinking machines, human-looking servos and cyber wars. It also described a world populated by strange creatures like bats, frogs, one-horned beasts; there were brolar bears that were white instead of brown, giant striped killer cats and "elle-phants" that sprouted long tails from their faces.

"So what, Gordie? Your stupid PANDECT is so nagas--Not Give-A-Shit!" She was only too happy to translate teen buzz for her clueless dad.

"Kela! Is that how you talk now? Before the Survive I suspected you were getting all that kind of low thinkin' from the kids over in South Bay--you're startin' to sound just like 'em. Goddamnit, we try and raise you right, then you go hangin' around with the wrong crowd, eh?"

"So what? You always say 'goddamnit'." Kela considered doing her requisite stalk-out but lingered to enjoy his reaction. "I'm goin' out. Maybe I'll be seein' Alec." She studied his ruddy cheeks, bright-red nose and clenched teeth. She knew what would push him over the edge.

Gordie struggled to stand. He staggered toward Kela and wagged his finger in her face: "Alec, huh? You're just provin' my point! His parents are good eggs, but he's a loser. I even hear he and his gang sell those mushrooms that make yer brain go funny--'floatin'. Even The Good Rithm ain't sacred to you," he sputtered. "Go ahead! I don't care what you do."

Kela hated when he was drunk, and was happy to punish him. "You're just jealous--mushers are way better than your stupid cannabis and ferment. You're so wasted, ya don't know what you're talking about--Gor-dieee ."

She heard his shout echo behind her: "Go ruin your life, eh? You just better git yer ass back here before lumes-out, daughter!"

***

As she did every morning, Kela would visit the cave entrance. Dawn light creamed the horizon. The promise of a whiff of chilly morning air, a glimpse of sunshine drew her closer. As usual, the guards would limit her advance. Still a little groggy from last night's musher, she sat on a rock and sorted her thoughts, then headed back to the main chamber, carefully fording a sea of tents.

Kela kicked one. "Hey, you in there, Alec?"

A head sprouting a crop of spiky, sleep-shaggy red hair popped out. He tried to shake off the fog of teenage sleep, and instantly perked up when he saw who woke him. "Hey!"

Kela wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the morning chill as she watched him yawn, then scratch himself as he erected his six-foot-three frame. Alec was cute--and he was good to talk to about things. She always wondered why she wasn't all that attracted to him. It seemed sad; most of the guys she liked were self-absorbed assholes--go figure.

"Hey." Kela smiled squeamishly. "Can you get away?"

Alec mumbled, yanking his trademark wool toque over his head before struggling to pull on his prized machine-woven

T-shirt. He had acquired it from the Traders in a deal for mushrooms. "Yeah, sure, I was just sleepin', eh?"

Kela admired how the fitted garment hugged his torso. "No kiddin'," she laughed. "I mean tonight, after curfew."

"But that ain't allowed." Alec's resistance slackened as he eyed Kela and considered what he might be denying himself. She rarely invited him to be alone with her. This could be the moment he had been waiting for. "Okay, yeah, sure. When do ya wanna do it?"

***

Kela led the way through a claustrophobic passage, hopping over crevices and sidestepping rocky detritus. The pair shined their lumes on, then pushed past dripping stalactites and their stalagmite offspring. "It's kind'a beautiful," she said. "Look'it these things!"

Alec nervously mumbled as he dragged his fingers over the glistening formations' smooth, multicolored surfaces. "Sort of looks like they're melting... like those wax torches we made when there was no solar to recharge our lumes during winter monsoons ..."

Kela forged ahead wishing he would just shut up. "C'mon, quit lagging. I wanna see if it's true there's another entrance--I heard it's up this way."

"... I wonder why the Traders haven't come in a while," Alec continued rambling. "It might've been because the scourers nabbed 'em all ... my mom says when they get caught comin' here, they get scoured--vapored like they never existed, eh?"

As they advanced, the cave narrowed. Kela crouched to get through a low passageway. Disappearing around a corner into the darkness, she said, "Ya know, I always wondered where the Traders come from."

Alec squeezed through the passage. "My dad thinks they're from over the edge of the Freshwater. But my mom says they drop from 'the Orb'--ya know, where the soot-seeder stars fly. But she believes they used to live on the ground like us regular folks."

Alec emerged into a vault-like chamber; his eyes widened.

Kela was standing with outstretched arms, bathed in a moonbeam slicing in from an opening above. "Hey, wait! Looks like you were right. Ya know, Kel, I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to go near it."

"I just wanna see them stars. No harm in that, Alec."

***

It was about three hours before dawn. Because the entrance was so small, only one person stood guard. Kela and Alec tried to stay in the shadows as they surveyed the cloud-mottled sky.

"What's with you, Alec? Don't you care about this?" she said, prodding Alec, who kept dozing off. "Why do you believe everything they tell us? Don't you think there's something wrong with all this 'surviving'?"

"Sure, I wonder about it, Kel, but ya gotta admit, why'd our elders go through this if it wasn't necessary? I mean, if ya read PANDECT ONE."

"I have. But just because it's written don't make it right."

Alec paused, as if waiting for an inner voice to guide his response. "I don't know, but I heard The Good Rithm didn't drop from the Orb. They say it was folks like us who wrote it during the tech times to teach their machines to think."

"I've heard that, too. But every time I mention it, my parents and teachers blow up. They just won't let themselves hear any doubts about their fucking Good Rithm. Why doesn't anybody admit it? Everybody's real fired up about their Survive

duties at first, but pretty soon, it's all nagas. They're just goin' through the motions, 'cuz everybody else is."

Leaning forward, Alec whispered, "Respect, Kel. You shouldn't mock our beliefs." He smiled and patted her shoulder. "Look, I'm sure they know what they're talkin' about. I mean, there were all those munis that are now woodlands. My dad always talks about the old West Lake where he grew up--there's no trace of it now."

"Yeah, my dad always says that a thousand seasonal turns ago the world was filled with giant munis, swarms of people and tech. Why wouldn't they be the ones who wrote the Rithm?"

"Maybe," said Alec, "but I was thinkin' about us ..."

The guard looked up in their direction.

"Shhh, Alec," Kela cupped her hand over his mouth. "You're talkin' too loud--and too much."

He pushed it away. "You started it."

"I'm just saying, we gotta keep quiet if we're gonna pull this off."

"Pull what off?"

Kela ran her fingers through his hair. "Alec, I'm going back to West Lake. I'm gonna prove all this ain't necessary, that it's just superstition. I was hoping ya wanna come with me."

Alec squinted and shook his head. He started to stroke her hair then ran his other hand down her arm toward her waist.

She leaned back."No Alec, we don't have time for that right now."

"Why not? C'mon, Kel, who cares about those stupid stars. As soon as they disappear, we'll all go home."

Kela regretted trying to entice him. Sure they had experimented with sex a few times--but Alec would always get too serious about coupling afterward.

"I said not now, Alec!" She looked around to see the guard looking their way again. "I mean it," she hissed, slapping his wandering hand away.

Alec stopped, and as usual, grew sulky.

She knew he was waiting to be reassured. At least it was a respite from his tendency to mumble about the mundane--or try feeling her up. She figured he liked her, but his attitude reminded her why she couldn't envision him as anything but an amorous friend.

While Alec brooded, she daydreamed as she watched the familiar constellations brighten and fade behind concentrations of "dirt balls"--her name for the soot-darkened clouds. According to Gordie, that ash was a gift from The Good Rithm. Seeded by moving stars in the Orb, it dimmed the sun and pushed the cool-down. She climbed onto a ledge to get closer to the portal. With wide eyes, she beheld the nearly full moon's beauty as it dodged breeze-driven clouds.

There they were!

The brilliant stars--motionless and barely twinkling--emerged from a dissipating cloud bank over the southwestern horizon, emanating a yellowish, oily light. Kela nudged Alec as she pointed, "I see 'em--right there! See, there they are!"

Kela crawled closer to the opening. The ashen moonlight cast the dozing watchman in a plump silhouette. All she would have to do is sneak by him; lucky for her it was droopy, beer-bellied Thad Mackenzie--"not brightest pup in the litter," her mom always said.

***

Once past fat Thad, Kela removed her sandals and stole through the mucky reeds, emerging into the flats. Before she

broke into a run for the Ridge Road that led to West Lake, she paused to look back, wondering if she could see Alec.

"It's forbidden," Alec had announced, as if the word itself formed a wall. He had grabbed her arm, pleading, "Please Kel, don't do it--it's dangerous! I should report ya--it'd be for your own good!"

It had taken some cajoling, bargaining and charm, but Alec agreed to distract the guard after failing to talk Kela down. "Don't worry, Alec, I told my mom I'd be taking a double shift on child-tending duty today. I'll be back before sundown, before anybody even notices."

"He can be so annoying," she thought, heading down the generations-old, potholed gravel pathway that cut through swamp and woodland. "He better cover for me if they ask, or we're through."

Kela took it slow, only guided by the setting moon filtering through the trees. As the sky brightened, her pace quickened. After she put enough distance between her and the Survive, adrenaline exhausted, she leaned against a boulder and closed her eyes.

The sun had cleared the treetops by the time she awoke. The day was already growing hot, but her successful escape

strengthened her resolve. Standing and stretching in the sunshine, she took a deep breath and reveled in the softness of cool, dewy grass under her feet. Pulling her chestnut hair into a pony tail, she wiped her brow, saying out loud, "I must be a real mess." Feeling hunger pangs, she was eager to get back to their house.

Kela hiked on a slight upgrade for about an hour, then came to a sharp curve. She eyed a tall tree, and in a flash was standing on a high branch. She was West Lake's best tree-climber, bar none, having won first prize at their muni's last three Summer Festivals. A flat vista spread before her. It was a sight she had previously taken for granted--one of lush temperate rain-forest as far as the eye could see.

The canopy was interrupted by square fields holding rows of feed corn. There were lucrative crops such as hemp, and hops for beer-making; farther out, irrigated cotton fields and rice paddies. Nearer were rows of vegetables and legumes. The expanse was punctuated by the glistening Great Freshwater. The vast lake stretched across the horizon--with its cool depths abounding in fish, it was indispensible to the Peninsula's settlements.

"How could they think they could hide all this?" Kela thought. "They let these growfields get way big once they started trading beer and cannabis to other munis for stuff, and

with the Traders for tech. It's not just cows, all that beer-makin' is a real emitter."

Kela unconsciously applied what the PANDECT said about the tech age. "Peninsula folk were gettin' too greedy--they made their 'footprint' too big. Nobody was worrying about the scourers comin' until now because they were gettin' fat and rich."

Warm thoughts of home soon replaced Kela's agitation. First on her wish list was a visit of her favorite place--Old Sandbanks. From the shore she loved contemplating the horizon and dreaming of things faraway. She would watch the waves crash over rocks, presaging oncoming storms, or gently roll up to kiss the sand in sunlit ripples, only to be shattered by the leaps of fishes she netted. She could hear her mother's voice: "Such a beautiful world we live in, thanks be to The Good Rithm."

"It's so peaceful. I didn't see anything funny, not counting them new stars. Maybe they're just that--stars. We learned at school that shooin' stars are just flaming rocks. There are also soot-seeders crossing the Orb, but I learned from readin' there's new ones that just flare up--I bet that's what them 13 are."

As Kela descended from the tree and started the final stretch, she thought of West Lake's cowering residents--they seemed foolish now. Exhilarated by her conclusions, she

resolved: "I think they go on these Survives to give elders comfort." A conspiracy theory emerged: "Or maybe these rituals are just to keep us all in line."

***

By the time Kela entered West Lake it was mid-afternoon. Except for the Orb-soot that had settled on every surface, the muni square and surrounding structures were untouched. The central market, hidden from overhead surveillance by a canopy of trees, had always been kept tidy by the work-share crews. Besides some overturned compost recycle bins and a few shattered clay rain barrels--probably from windstorms or brolar bears--nothing much had changed after the evacuation.

Then she caught a whiff of stink: "Oh no! Marvy's mouser," she thought, pushing her foot into her neighbor's cat's bloated belly. Poor thing--they were all in such a hurry, they didn't have time to round up their house animals. She nudged the fetid corpse again and sighed, "Maybe I'm glad mom wouldn't let me have a dog."

Kela walked from house to house. She saw other decomposing, scavenger-ravaged pets, and caught a sickening downwind scent wafting from the barns. The abandoned livestock had been roaming free. Unable to fend for themselves, the animals habitually headed back to their barns, where they

either starved or became prey. Following the stench to the closest farm, she surveyed the putrid carcasses. As she had noticed with the pets, all of them looked skinned.

When Kela entered her home, the first thing she did was check her beehives. Their pleasant hum bolstered her. "Don't worry buzzybees, Kela didn't forget ya. I'll be back soon enough to taste your sweet stings."

Late spring's lengthening daylight had given her more time to explore the abandoned settlement. Such was her preoccupation, she had not noticed the afternoon sun had morphed into a dull-orange blob. As its angle lowered, it seemed to ignite the particulates dancing in the air.

"I probably shouldn't have sloughed off so long. I guess I'll have to sleep here tonight, then head back in the morning. Not to worry, I probably won't get in trouble after I tell 'em it's all clear. I'll even fib that I saw the scourers finish off the livestock and leave--it wouldn't do any good to say maybe they never came at all." She smiled. "I'll probably be everybody's hero when I give 'em the good news."

Pushing open the door to their sod-covered home, Kela patted the switch panel. The wall lumes lit, then quickly faded. "Those idiots shut down the solar generators to 'kill the tech-tags,' and the supercapacitors discharged."

She found a hand lume in the utility closet, and foraged through the storage bins, digging up a stash of stale eat paks. After gorging them down, she ran her finger along a countertop, thinking, "Wow, mom's right, if you don't keep dustin', the soot piles up fast."

***

Long after midnight, as Kela tossed and turned in her hammock, she noticed a flicker outside her window. The wan light was accompanied by a tingly sensation and the sharp scent of an approaching thunderstorm. Goose bumps pricked her forearms. The enfeebled setting moon struggled to dilute the deepening shadow as it enveloped the backyard garden.

Kela cautiously ventured outside and climbed the tallest of the gnarly maple trees that camouflaged the house. She looked for signs of rain but the sky was clear, the air still. Hearing a flutter, then another rustle beyond the yard, she tightened her grip on the bark as a chill rode her spine. "Probably just a dog or coon," she assured herself.

Kela could not pinpoint anything out of the ordinary as she peered over the shadow sea of sodden rooftops. The muni's comforting familiarity had transformed into a dead shadow world. The chirps and songs of nocturnal creatures breaking the silence of the empty yards became alien, invasive. She wiped at

cold sweat beading her forehead, felt her chest heaving, saw her hands trembling as her fight-or-flight instincts welled up. She tried to override fear with reason. "I'm spookin' myself, and now I'm seein' things, too."

***

Too spooked to wait for dawn, Kela exited the ghostly settlement. Only the scrape of her sandals broke the dead silence. Fueled by angst, she picked up her pace, scanning alleyways and the silhouettes of a row of rooftops--then froze.

She became aware of a distant high-pitched whine; a flicker caught her eye as a shadow crossed her path. She glimpsed something momentarily blot out the stars, an irregular dark shape that disappeared behind a cloud bank. The whine's pitch changed, sounded closer. Suddenly it wound up to a screech. An object dove toward her. She dropped her supply-laden knapsack and broke into a run. The object buzzed her again, and she fell forward. Face down and protecting her head, she felt something brush her--heard some kind of pelting that prickled her bare arms. Then, silence.

First Kela stayed face down--afraid to move, afraid not to. Then, seized by panic, she popped up and fled. Only after she was far outside of West Lake did she collapse from exhaustion. Hunched over and panting, she felt some kind of metallic residue that stubbornly clung to her skin and

clothing. As she brushed herself, all she could think of was to get back to the caves so she could shed her filthy clothes, wash and close off the world.

***

The sun was high in the sky when Kela staggered toward the cave entrance. Her adrenalized flight had faded into physical exhaustion, but she had pressed on. Throughout her return trip she had felt ground vibrations and heard occasional rumbles from the direction of West Lake.

"Hey! It's me, Kela," she shouted, clumsily crossing the marsh, hoping the guards would not draw their weapons. She could not see anyone, but something was odd. As she got closer, a dark shape resolved into a barrier.

"Hey, anybody home?" It's Kela! I'm back!"

She advanced toward the entrance, then froze. From behind the barrier she heard her father's voice and relished its sound--but not its content: "Kela, please! Stay back!"

She did not obey, but then another harsh command overrode her dad's: "Stop! Now! Go no farther!"

The sheriff's demands seemed harsh, but Kela did not see what they saw: how the sticky material covering her clothes and

hair glittered in the sunshine--although the particles on her bare forearms had dissolved, leaving only a rash. Betty stepped into the cave entrance.

"Kela, honey," her mother pleaded, "ya gotta turn back! You can't come in here, or anywhere close--you're puttin' us all in danger. Ya got yerself tagged!"

Gordie pulled Betty into the cave but she broke free and yelled, "Kel, run and hide, the Rithm knows where you are now--there's nanos inside ya!"

Then her father joined the chorus: "They can find and scour ya! Ya gotta hide. But whatever ya do, don't lead 'em to West Lake! Stay off-road. We're gonna leave out some food for ya. Sneak back tonight and get it, then get yourself into the marsh! Cover up with muck--they mightn't be able to read your heat and emits! Try to wait 'em out. I'm prayin' they might pass ya up! When they leave we could all ..."

Kela stopped and bowed her head. Tears welled up: Her parents' desperate warnings seemed to fade, come from faraway.

***

Angry, confused and hurt, Kela sobbed as she trudged toward West Lake. She could still hear her mother's words echoing through her blinding headache, bruises and bug bites:

"Ya got yerself tagged." She nervously reexamined the speckled purple rash creeping up her forearms.

Disoriented but defiant, Kela's anger festered. She tripped over a rock, scraping her elbows and knees on the gravel. "Fuck 'em"--she could not tell if her invective was exclaimed or internal. "Alec betrayed me--he's such a keener. Wait'll they come out of their useless Survive. We'll see what they say when they see their stupid muni ain't been touched."

Kela kept swiping at the sticky particles. She hoped to scrounge up some Trader market painkiller tabs back home; maybe some salve for the spreading rash. Gradually, she became aware of vibrations under her feet. The closer she got to her destination the stronger the tremors grew.

***

Her angst rose as darkness fell, but Kela's sleep deprivation overcame her trepidation. She set up camp in Beaver Meadows on the mucky trace that followed an old rice paddy dike. Curling up on a dry, flat rock, she fell into a dreamless sleep. Waking late in the morning, her confidence was bolstered. "They got it wrong again," she thought, "nothin's comin' after me. I'm headin' home. When they wanna come back is up to them."

Still, to be sure, she took her father's advice and stuck to the trace. The going was almost impossible, and with each smashed skeeto and mud-sucked step the temptation to return to Ridge Road intensified.

Muck-slathered and miserable, she approached a clearing and, spotting a solitary dead tree, scampered up. Squinting into the sun's glare, motion caught her eye--objects resembling eggs darted back and forth above West Lakes's rooftops. She shielded her eyes from a rapid sequence of flashes, punctuated by muted booms. Each detonation generated a delayed shock wave--and there was that sharp odor again.

Kela worked her way to the side of the tree opposite the blasts. She felt safer nestled among the branches; still, she trembled. During each pause she snuck a peek. The eggs were still visible, hovering above the treetops, but the domes had disappeared. After an hour of pounding, the sky over West Lake glowed sickly green, radiating air-rippling heat.

As the day descended into late afternoon, the paroxysm ebbed into silence. Craving the banal, she absent-mindedly gazed at her mucky feet and infected arms. She sighed as she wiggled her filthy toes and contemplated a day when she could refresh the fading colors of her painted toenails with Trader market polish.

By the time she mustered the courage to survey the scene, the sky had returned to its normal dull gray-blue hue, and the terrible machines punishing the verdant canopy were nowhere to be seen. Back on the ground, she thought, "What now? Do I keep going or try to get let back into the Survive, even if I have to camp outside--I don't care, anything would be better than this."

Kela soon succumbed to the temptation to use the road. Ignoring the danger, she felt relief as her pace rapidly carried her toward her goal. Suddenly she froze when her eye caught a shape emerging from the trees. There was a deafening whine, a blinding yellow flash. She felt her feet leave the ground. Tumbling, she rammed into a tree trunk. A flood of red, then nothingness.

***

Kela was welcomed back to consciousness by a burnt mechanical odor and ringing ears. She thought she could see fingers. Before she could resolve the blur, her focus met a pair of eyes.

"You took a real wallop there," said a disembodied voice that slowly solidified into a woman's face. "I thought you were a goner fer sure, eh?"

"What happened. Who are you?"

"You got in the way, daughter. I didn't see you when I fired. But look! Happy ending! I brought one 'a them scourers down. Got the fucker good. It's my first!"

"Daughter? I ain't never seen you in my life!" Kela sat up. "Where's my mom and dad?" Her eyes locked on smoke rising from a tubular device hanging from a strap over the stranger's shoulder, shifted to a belt holding small canisters, then beyond it to a red-hot pile of dull-green metal half buried in the muck, licked by hissing, white-hot flames.

"What is it?"

"That's one of the fuckin' Rithm's scourers come to wipe us out."

Kela drew herself up. "You shot it with that thing?"

The woman looked up at Kela. "Wow, you're a tall one, aren't ya?" She slid the weapon off her shoulder and held it out. "Forty-five of these phosphor guns cost our muni treasury two turns' revenue. But well worth it! When those stars rose, we figured scourers would follow. So we thought, instead of all of us cowering in our Survive, some of us would go out and get 'em first, eh? No doubt about it, I hear up in New Picton they've had some success at makin' them fuckers pay a big price with these things--pretty frightful, eh?"

"But the Rithm is here to fix things. Ain't it why we're supposed to get outta the way and let 'em do their spring cleaning?"

"Oh my. You got the party line, didn't ya daughter?"

"I ain't your daughter!

"Never mind, that's the way I talk. What are they teachin' ya down here on the Peninsula? All that PANDECT crap?"

"My parents say we have to respect the Rithm; that it keeps everything from gettin' too hot--ya know, to mind the Balance."

"That got done a while ago, after the Crisis. It was thinking machines that set out to fix the world--get the heat goin' down. Sure, they did that all right, but then the Rithm took on a life of its own--and now it's a runaway. It built servos not just to get to the Balance, but to keep it exactly right. But 'exactly right' means we're doomed."

"Why?" I thought our emits only had to be snuffed enough to keep everything balanced."

"That may have been the intention. But now it seems to think a balanced world is one that ain't got us in it. True, tech age people always were makin' machines to get 'em out of

doin' an honest day's work, even to think for 'em--and they didn't care if they hurt nature to do it. When they saw everything was gettin' too hot, they wrote the Rithm to fix what they broke. Yet somehow the machine's thinking got changed from what they call 'tech-retreat' to 'tech-scour', so now it enforces the 'Sustained Balance'--but not for us, from us.

"But you're sayin' they built tech to stop tech?"

"Seems so, but even worse was its next idea: If people make tech that emits, then the best way to stay the Balance would be if there was nobody to build it. How'd ya like that? People made a thinking machine to fix the damage so they'd have a balanced world; and, sure enough, it got smart enough to come up with a way to give 'em just that."

"But what good is a perfect world if we ain't allowed to live in it?"

"The Rithm don't care about that no more, now it only knows one thing: keep the heat balanced."

"That don't sound right."

"Oh, it's right, daughter. We're all goners now that these fuckin' machines are gettin' their way. First they were comin' every sixty turns or so, now it's forty--and I fear this go-round they're sticking around until the job gets done. Sure, they've

been slowin' their air sootin', and the heat's been ebbin'--I'll give 'em that. But now it's goin' for a Total Scour and Restore. Don't you get it? The Rithm sees us as invaders of our own world. It wasn't happy just to be our master--now it's our destroyer, eh?"

The woman went silent as she caught Kela's eyes suddenly focus behind her. A low-pitched sound suddenly spun up to a deafening level. Branches shivered and the ground shook. Three scourers emerged from the tall reeds behind the stranger.

Kela ran toward a nearby pond. The air crackled with static electricity. As she dived in, she saw a flash. Breaking the surface, she caught the intoxicating scent of cooking flesh. Swaddled by cool slime, she submerged into the murk. She remained motionless, occasionally bobbing up among the lily pads for a gulp of air. With each breath she heard the whine, felt a presence. After an eternity, it faded.

***

Kela could not stop visualizing the skinned Mainlander writhing in agony. That and the distant screams of scourers firing their flesh-dissolving beams also eradicated her doubts about why the adults were terrified.

Her attempt to enter the caves was again rebuffed. She had begged in desperation as Gordie restrained Betty, who had lunged at the guards.

She could still hear Sheriff Davis yelling, "Don't make me have to shoot her, Gordie!"

Another voice: "Shoot! If she gets any closer, we're goners!"

A shout: "She's too close already! We're probably tagged now!"

Kela sobbed as she retreated on the Ridge Road toward West Lake. Breaking into a run on the dangerous trail, she no longer cared about safety. When she rounded the bend that led into the muni, her jaw dropped. The path opened into a distant brown field. All the structures had been reduced to smoldering mounds surrounding the former square. No sign of the growfields either--every hint of their beloved settlement now a massive scar. A mess of blackened soil marked the only home she knew. She started gagging as her nostrils met a slightly sweet odor.

Gingerly stepping, she noticed the soil had become a fizzing brown foam, and felt a burning sensation on her sole through a hole in her sandal. She yelped, turned and sprinted

out of the ruins. "I gotta to get back to warn everybody. There's something crazier going on than even they thought."

Suddenly, a boom; a thump of air. Kela ducked, then cautiously looked up, only to see a glimmer behind a cloud. Then another shock blast as a hail of tiny droplets pelted the former municipal. As they splattered around her, she again could caught another whiff of sweet, this time more intense.

She did not stick around see it wafted from the smothering mist that enveloped the site in a crimson haze. Oblivious to the sharp gravel punching through her soles, she hightailed back to the caves. They had to listen.

***

Kela usually felt better after climbing a tree. Not this time. Dried tears crusted her eyes, her hair was a tangled, sooty mess. Her mucky clothes stunk and her period had begun. But she didn't notice.

When she had returned to the caves, there was no one stop her; but she did not go in because she knew what she would find. The crimson haze and sickly sweet stench pouring from the refuge showed it had been visited by The Good Rithm. Viewing the scene she blanked out, maybe for hours, obsessively rubbing

her hands on her pants; aggressively plucking and crushing each silvery particle.

When she came around it was dark out; new tears welled up. "It's all my fault--I led 'em to our Survive."

***

It was the next spring turn when Kela revisited the site where West Lake had stood. Completely erased, it resembled a growfield, sprouting a carpet of tender green shoots and sprouts.

It had been almost four turns since Rithm operations had commenced. Although her mother had taught her how to hunt and trap, she regretted not having paid attention. She preferred to fish in the Freshwater, but that required her to be in the open--a dangerous prospect while the 13 stars still shined.

She had spent three turns hiding in the swamp; venturing into the woodland only to forage. Living on berries, mushrooms and roots was growing tiresome. The winter had been rough. She shivered in her tree shelter, huddling under the season's bone-chilling rains. She frequently felt nausea and dry heaved. During each spasm she assumed: "I guess I'm pukin' up bad berries or mushers. I don't care, I hope they're sour; I don't think I wanna be alive no more--I'm so lonely."

Kela couldn't say whether she had been wandering for hours, days or whole turns. Late that summer she had hiked up the Peninsula to Athol, a neighboring muni, but found the same scene. She was afraid to go farther north to New Picton on the Mainland--every night she had heard distant booms and saw flashes rippling across the horizon. "They must be putting up a fight up there," she figured. By season's end, the glow had disappeared and nights grew silent enough to return center stage to crickets and the love songs of amorous frogs.

With the new spring turn, emaciated by hunger and numb to the dangers around her, Kela returned to her beloved Old Sandbanks, desperate to catch fish. Waking to the sunlit sparkle of soft waves spreading over the sand could not erode her despondency and suffocating loneliness.

"Everything is so beautiful without us," she thought. Yet Kela felt no joy now that The Good Rithm had rebalanced the Peninsula--restoring a paradise for nobody. She recalled something her dad had worried about: "It was us. Folks let the Rithm take over. As if it was either a world for people or for nature--with no in-between. It looks like the Rithm might be settin' to erase us to keep the Balance--we kicked ourselves out of paradise a long time ago."

"Except it's only paradise because it was us namin' it that," Kela thought.

***

Viewed from orbit, the scattered, glowing white blobs that designated tagged tech emitter organisms had become scattered stationary points on the great lake's shore. The nanoservos in their blood signaled life cessation and decomposition had commenced. The mop-up operations, delayed by unanticipated tech-based resistance over the planet, were complete.

One of the Good Rithm's latest upgrades was to increase scourer energy efficiency by setting their beams to only vaporize tech-users' epidermises; leaving it to fatal infection and natural biodegradation to finish the job. It had come a long way from the crude original coding, which employed environmentally polluting biocides to erase organo-emitters.

Shortly after, servos, circuits and satellites concluded their Planetary Climate Restoration operations. When the Rithm fleet finally left orbit, it had finished updating ground and orbital monitor sensors; also fine-tuning its sky-seeding geo-engineering satellites to continue lowering induced atmospheric opacity. It also had verified ocean de-acidification, and polar cap expansion was progressing satisfactorily--the global cool-down was ahead of schedule.

Unless technogenic reinfection surveys showed otherwise, two cycles could be skipped before this spectacularly beautiful world would need further adjustments. With this visit, a 99-percent techno-degradation rate had been established; the atmospheric carbon/methane rebalancing equilibrium at 400 ppm was now sustainable despite persistent anthropogenic re-infestation.

The Good Rithm, humankind's great gift to the non-technological organic universe, had returned this visit with its most efficient self-improvement yet. Solving the tricky problem of efficiently fulfilling PANDECT ONE's Sustainable Balance by reestablishing a pre-industrial global temperature had taken some centuries to develop. Reducing the complex algorithm's myriad variables all had resolved beautifully when the Rithm finally arrived at an elegant solution: the condition that a Sustained Balance must include human habitation had been deemed a null set.

As it grew in sophistication, the Rithm had also had tackled another challenge--hyperlight travel. Now it could set out to expand and send its servo fleet in search of new exoplanetary restoration candidates. There were so many other tech-infected worlds to save.

THE END

Bio: I am recently retired from Scientific American magazine, where I was an editor and blogger. I have also written essays for Sky & Telescope, and a number of fictional works, none published-yet. This is my first shot at science fiction. I hope it is not my last.

E-mail: Michael J. Battaglia

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