CHAPTER ONE

"Martin Midway McLaren! Of all the crazy...Oh, what am I going to do with you?"

Mart had left home hours ago, so Sam really wasn't expecting an answer. She took one look at her feather-strewn kitchen, changed her mind about entering, then slammed the door on the mess. Not that her kitchen was usually spotless, but chickens running amuck? Mart, how could you?

Sam sank down on her haunches, leaned back against the closed door and exhaled slowly. Long, loose tendrils of hair danced around her face. Indecision stayed her movements.

Exasperation with her brother Mart flooded her emotions, but she quickly banished the unkind thoughts. The poor kid suffered from that awful condition. She could never remain angry with him for long. In fact, her initial irritation had already dissolved. Only curiosity remained. Why in blue blazes did he allow his two pet hens, feisty Cluck-Cluck and Henrietta, to literally rule the roost inside the house?

Sam glanced at her wristwatch: seven o'clock. Mart wasn't due to unicopter back home for another three hours. She'd have to wait for the answer to that puzzle.

Well, why put off the inevitable? She stood and brushed some travel dirt from her pants. The old saying went, "There was no rest for the weary." It fit her to a tee. After riding her antique bicycle eight miles to her tedious job at the unicopter factory, Sam was as weary as a one-dollar bill.

She grabbed the porch broom with which to shoo Cluck-Cluck and Henrietta back outside. Some days never seemed to end and today was destined to be one of them.

Lately, Mart seemed more restless than usual. Although he had just reached his twentieth year, because of his disease, he acted more like twelve -- on occasion. And Sam, only twenty-four, felt three times her years. Once in a while the responsibility of looking after him sat heavily on her shoulders. Like tonight. She couldn't blame him when he called her an old fogy. Most evenings all she wanted to do was relax -- maybe play the lyre or read.

But what other pastimes were available in this isolated part of Greater Missouri? Perhaps it was a matter of principle, but she refused to use the televiewer at all. Virtual reality devices made her sick, and even riding in unicopters caused bubbles in her stomach. Technological progress was not always a good thing. Just look at what had happened to their parents...

She sighed. "First things first. I might as well buckle down and get this cleaned." Anticipating the barnyard smell, she wrinkled her nose, opened the barricade and walked into the kitchen. A tiny white feather, once belonging to Cluck-Cluck, fluttered in the air to greet her. The feather was one of too many.

When Mart returned home tonight, he'd better have a darn good reason for taking the chickens in as boarders.

After finishing the Herculean task, Sam didn't have much longer to wait for Mart. To pass the time, she sat on the cement steps in front of her screened-in porch. It was moments like these that she truly appreciated the isolation from town. Only the loud buzzing of cicadas and crisp chirps from crickets kept her company. She never tired of hearing the insects' mysterious communication. Sam felt calm, at peace with herself and the world. Sweet smells of honeysuckle drifted over to her, soothing away her previous agitation.

Thankfully, men and their noisy mechanical toys were asleep. At this hour, nature took over to provide a moonlight symphony. The majestic blackness above demanded her attention, as it always did when the skies were clear. Inclining her head back, she gazed up at the star-sprinkled night. Amazing how the constellations of today in the year 2452 were the same as long ago -- the same as the ones viewed by the people she longed to learn more about: the Greeks and the Romans.

So much had changed since then, while so much remained the same.

A repetitive clamor disturbed the natural quiet. As it grew closer a sudden hurricane whipped the air into a frenzy. Displaced clumps of loose rich soil flew at her. Her long hair flapped wildly about her face and she shielded her eyes from the dirt.

The whirl of engines abruptly stopped. Mart had landed -- out in the fields past their house.

"He remembered!" At long last he finally respected her wishes to set down his unicopter away from the hen house. That was a good sign. Maybe he'd had a day free from any "occurrences."

Peering into the night, she searched for him, but the inky darkness refused to reveal his form. Mart's voice traveled far and arrived before he did. But he wasn't talking to her. Was he speaking to himself?

Copyright © by Susanne Marie Knight