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		Windgate Windgate lived in a hollow elm tree and went around with woodpecker droppings and acorn shells in his hair. When everyone died, he survived; seven light years from Earth. He told them not to eat the green fruit. Unfortunately it tasted like candy. Who could resist? As he wasn't really one of them why should they listen. So they died, slowly, but without pain. Windgate ate certain grasses, nuts, leaves and the gray fruit, called pears that tasted like iron filings. He thrived, bamboo-thin and healthy. In the new place there were no woodpeckers. There were birds, many kinds. There were no oak trees to produce acorns or elms to produce shade. There were trees, fifty varieties within twenty miles of his tree. When the people arrived they gave the trees, flowers and wildlife names from the home place. They didn't have much imagination. Back there, in the other place, the one he didn't think about anymore, the people were called Rock N' Roll Baptists. Many said they were a cult. Some said they were a sect. Those who believed in the law said they were a religion. Those who didn't give a damn one way or the other, said they were a bunch of loonies and air heads. The Rock N' Roll Baptists didn't mind. What's in a label, just a lot of nit picking opinion. The leader, Adam Hozel, had twenty five billion dollars and if he'd stayed on the other planet another five years he'd have made another twenty five billion dollars. Every time he had an idea he made another billion dollars. Some people are like that. His last idea didn't make money. It cost Adam and his followers a ton. He had a vision. It said, go to Wolf 204 where a wonderful planet had been recently discovered. "Go to this place with your people and you will receive Grace," the vision said. Adam Hozel needed Grace. On the road to making twenty five billion dollars he made one or two errors in judgment. True to the nature of that other planet, when a man or a woman decided they had to have Grace, they usually took a lot of other people along to help them find it. The fact that these people often wound up dead didn't seem to bother the folks doing the looking. It was a testament to Hozel's genius that they didn't end up in the Indian Ocean bringing Grace and destruction to thousands of yellow fin tuna. He told the government he was going to Wolf 204. The government said no, you can't go, and sent FBI agents, CIA agents, State Department Enforcers and County Sheriffs to reason with him. "We have reserved that planet for mankind," they said sententiously. Adam Hozel asked God if this was so and God said, "no, it isn't." A more forthright man than Adam Hozel might have said, "take another look, you chicken-neck, dirt eating trolls, we are mankind." So Adam took his money and his followers to India and made a deal. "If you will give me a place to build my ship I will leave all my money and technology to you," he said. The Indian government said, "sure, why not." For twenty five billion dollars they would have given him Nepal, which wasn't theirs to give. People in that other place gave away things that didn't belong to them all the time. No one thought he would succeed, especially the Indian government. They should have read his resume'. Windgate shouldn't have been on Wolf 204. He wasn't a Baptist and he didn't like Rock N' Roll. He was an orphan of disaster. God made orphans of disaster so good people could acquire Grace. Adam Hozel and his followers thought it was necessary to do something to acquire Grace. Before the second disaster, Windgate, who was in fact Sumiyori Takeshime, who was really the abandoned offspring of a Sony fast-food executive and his Australian film star girlfriend, lived with a mystic in an up-scale tri-level in a mountainous region of northern Hokkaido near the ocean. Until the age of three he lived in an orphanage at which time an earthquake mangled the town. The Japanese call their home the Land of the Gods. Some myths are not as easy to understand as others. Sumiyori was found in noodle shop on the beach two miles from the orphanage. Nearly everyone else was dead. People asked him, what happened? This was, he thought, pretty idiotic, and he decided not to talk about it, or to anyone for a long time. It wasn't that he was in shock, or couldn't talk, he just decided it wasn't worth the trouble if people were going to ask him a lot of dumb-ass questions. The mystic, who called himself, Bashi-Bashi, which I think means Bridge-Bridge, came to the destroyed town to see if there was anything mystical about the earthquake. There is no rule that says mystics have to be intelligent. In a land that has some sort of earthquake every hour...well, you see what I mean. He found Sumiyori in the noodle shop and took him back to his tri-level. This was fine with the three year-old orphan. Bashi-Bashi wasn't a talker, made no demands, and didn't ask him to explain things he couldn't explain. Like, why are you alive and all the rest of these nice folks dead? Even if Sumi knew the answer it wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Bashi-Bashi fed him and clothed him. He also provided him with a rudimentary education. Sumiyori was a lot smarter than his foster parent and took over his own education as soon as possible. Sumi, having been taught fatalism by events, was waiting for the next disaster. It took ten years, but, with the inevitability of a romance novel, it arrived in his thirteenth year. Another earthquake, this time out to sea. At the time he was apprenticed to a romantic lady rope weaver in the small seaside village of Minnihata. His mystic semi-parent, Bashi-Bashi, was into the work ethic in a big way, which is why he owned a tri-level in the hills. However, life was not all hard work. Sumi was allowed to join the BSOJ and was well on his way to becoming an Eager Scout. No mean accomplishment for a thirteen year old who seldom said more than four words at a time. The Tidal Wave arrived at five in the evening without warning. Sumi was taking a bath in an iron tub in the storage shed. He had learned to brace a chair against the door to prevent the passionate rope weaver from making unwanted advances. The next morning, Sumi was found naked in the tub in the garden of the Hibachi Bar and Grill, a local hang out for low class women and men who gambled on things like, how long before the dog lying asleep under the Mayor's Toyota would wake up. Most of the people in the town were drowned or mutilated in the wreckage of obliterated buildings. Those who were religious said Sumi had been touched by the gods. The gamblers said he had, by God, unbelievable luck. There were sufficient dead and wounded to interest CBS, NBC, ABC, FOX News and two thousand four hundred and sixteen other news services from all around the world. For pretty much the same reason, four hundred and twelve relief agencies and church organizations also made an appearance. A man named Cliston, who was El Presidente of a large country, devoted ten minutes to telling people how bad he felt until several thousand of the listeners hurled fried chicken all over their back yards. The newspapers reported Cliston's speech in depth with close-up pictures until the entire country went on a hurling binge for two weeks. The newspapers made a big deal over Sumiyori and took hundreds of thousands of pictures of him naked in the cast iron tub. He was very embarrassed, but there was no way to make them go away. The religious groups all wanted to adopt him. He didn't bother telling them he already had a foster father. He correctly deduced that news people and super religious fanatics don't listen very well. The gamblers gave him some clothes and a room in the back of the bar. His stay, however, was short-lived. Mrs. Adam Hozel on seeing him alive, naked in the tub, decided he was a messenger from God and that he must become a member of the First Rock N' Roll Baptist Church. She also knew that one of the fastest ways to acquire Grace is to put clothes on naked people who don't give a damn about their nakedness. It didn't matter that he was reasonably content living on the mountain with Bashi-Bashi. His membership and subsequent induction into the One True Church was fore-ordained by God. Ipso Facto, te deum etc. etc. Mrs. Hozel discussed this with his holiness, Adam The First, and mostly because he knew he'd have to listen to a lot of annoying yip-yap, agreed that Sumiyori Takeshime was destined to become a member of The One True Church. Despite his singular eccentricities, Adam realized Sumi might not want to come to his country and sent four large Sin Policemen to abduct Sumi. They spirited him out of the country the same night on a rented 747. He was treated kindly and told to wear clothes, and if he didn't want to do that, at least a loin cloth. Members of The One True Church were frightened of him and seldom said hello, not that he would have answered. Occasionally they would rub his back timidly, then wait expectantly. He almost asked them why they did that then concluded he wouldn't believe what they told him and kept his mouth shut. It was decided that his name would have to be changed. It was too...foreign. True messengers of God don't have foreign sounding names. This is a useful concept when deciding which people and religions to hate. Mrs. Hozel read some books, fourteen to be precise, when she was in State Teachers College in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Six more than the required amount. Quite by accident, one of them was about a British religious warrior-zealot, named Orde Wingate. She thought he was a very romantic fellow. She told one of her friends that he stirred her loins. Her friend didn't know what that meant and smiled vacuously. People in that other place did that a lot when they didn't know what the hell was going on. Thus, Sumiyori Takeshime became Windgate Hozel. He didn't mind, he'd been called worse. Three years later he was taken aboard Adam's Ark and roared off to Wolf 204. Everything worked just the way it was supposed to. The cold-sleep chambers, automatic guidance systems, propulsion package, the lot. It was a nice trip, made nicer by the fact that no one remembered anything about it. They all woke a month before touch-down and began preparing for their arrival in Eden, and the subsequent in-gathering of vast quantities of Grace. It is a well known fact that you have to be somewhere to acquire Grace. As evidence of this fact, back on that other planet, there is a religious group who believe they must be above five thousand feet up one side of Mount Zion the next time God destroys the world. If they do this they're going to get Grace big time. All two hundred and thirty six members of the synod came around and rubbed his back before they landed. He would like to have known why they were doing that but the mystery was a lot more fun than the answer so he didn't ask. The landing was a piece of cake and people smiled at him like he was the chief pilot. He'd been reading a book on extra-terrestrial gardening by Arthor C. Cloak and wouldn't have known what was happening except that the engines made a lot of noise. They put the ship down on a grassy plain next to a forest in the temperate zone. It wasn't like the other home but it was similar. After careful testing of the local environment, essentially benign, two hundred and thirty six happy people disembarked on Wolf 204. Filled with missionary zeal they sang, "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" twenty six times and played a lot of very loud Led Zepplin on a huge high-tech ghetto blaster shaped like a Darth Vader helmet. Windgate, who liked Bach a lot more than the Beatles, went for a walk. After two days of prayers and making a loud noise unto the Lord the newly released zealots of Adam's Ark set about assembling seventy five sets of pre-fabricated housing there at the edge of the forest. Working according to a pre-set plan, the power generating plant was installed, unnecessary water purifying machinery hooked up and the land surveyed for planting. Geologists, Agronomists, Chemists sampled and tested. The ant-like energy of the old home had been brought to the new, and by God, about time, someone said. There's not a darn thing going on here! They found the fruit trees on the tenth day. Mrs. Hozel called them peaches and promptly announced they were a gift from God and perfectly fit to eat. Because they hadn't found anything that produced more than mild diarrhea, no one bothered to test. Windgate had discovered the orchard the first day, took one sniff and said, "these things will kill you." As ill-disposed as he was to say anything to anybody, he wasn't without charity. He told everybody. Some people listened until Mrs. Hozel, defended by Saint Adam de Wolf, as he now called himself, said, "don't be silly, these have been blessed by God himself." This was the first time Windgate knew a disaster was coming before the event. Being a fatalist he didn't bother pleading or trying to convince the people. It took three months. One and all, men, women and children, got tired, lay down and went to sleep: A sleep from which they did not wake. Windgate was not without feeling. He turned on some Van Halen and said a few generic prayers. Then he got the electric back hoe and buried all of them out on the grassy plain. It took three days and wore him out. For reasons known only to Windgate he decided it was time to say something. It was time to talk. The fact that he wouldn't be listening to any more stupid questions may have had something to do with it. Windgate could have lived in any one of the seventy five pre-fabricated houses or on the ship, which was intact and in good shape. He chose instead to live in an old hollow tree well back in the forest. He was good at minding his own business and didn't bother any of the local wildlife. As a confirmed fatalist he did not exude anxiety or fear, nor did he threaten. He spent a lot of time in the ship reading and watching old movies. The Late Saint Adam did not plan to return to the old place so he brought along tapes and CD's of the entire library of congress. Some years later, on his twenty first birthday, which he celebrated with a breakfast of Fried Groof's eggs and homemade Green bread, Windgate decided to take a drive in the solar-powered dune buggy which Adam de Wolf had brought along as his personal vehicle. "God," Adam said, with a familiarity which surely bred contempt, "didn't mean for him to slog around afoot like ordinary people." It's amazing how many sainted gentlemen and women have the inside track on God's word. The grasslands stretched as far as the eye could see, which isn't really that far. Windgate brought along his pet Groof, Bashi-Bashi, a fat little bird that looked something like a chicken. The quasi-chicken didn't talk, it sat on Windgate's shoulder and said groof, groof, at which time it usually took a dump. "How far do you think this goes, Bashi," Windgate asked. "Groof, groof," Bashi replied, depositing another load of guano on Windgate's shoulder. Windgate was beginning to look like one of those rocks in the Galapagos Islands. "It's been almost five years without a disaster, Bashi. I think we're about due." Wisely, Bashi decided not to answer. "I've been trying to imagine what it will be. Is it possible that a disaster isn't really a disaster if there are no people around to make a fuss about it? I mean if no one knows it's a disaster, what is it?" Windgate thought this was a rather nice philosophical question and spent the next hour considering it. Shortly he came to a lake where he went for a swim. Bashi wandered around in the sand looking for grubs. After his swim and a leisurely lunch Windgate took a nap. He was into a very nice erotic dream when something woke him up. Bashi was perched on top of the dune buggy looking up at the sky. "Groof!, groof!, groof!, groof!, it said, bespattering the top of Windgate's vehicle. A shrieking howl followed by a thunder louder than a thousand elephants breaking wind simultaneously burst down through the clouds. Windgate knew what was happening, well, not specifically, but he knew it was another disaster in the making. It made him feel tired and blue. The noise got louder and louder until he saw a huge object shaped like a loaf of bread descend through the clouds. It was headed for the area near the edge of the forest where he lived. The object disappeared over the horizon and the noise stopped. Whatever it was had landed. "Well, Bashi, we better go see what's going on." Bashi hopped on his shoulder and said, "Groof, groof." Windgate drove back across the grasslands toward his tree. "I guess the government has sent someone out to see what's happening to their property. Governments sure own a lot of things. I wonder how they manage to do that?" "Groof, groof." The big gun metal gray bread box was visible from a long way off. Windgate could see steam rising around the area where it landed. He didn't hurry, it looked like it was going to be around for quite a while. He thought briefly about turning around and heading back to the lake and beyond, but he knew the nature of disaster. There had to be witnesses, otherwise how would anyone know? The bread box towered over everything, even the trees of the forest. "That's the ugliest bread box I've ever seen, Bashi." "Groof, groof." When Windgate stopped, Bashi hopped to the ground and headed for the forest on the double. It knew a disaster when it saw one. Windgate leaned back in the seat and put his hands behind his head. "It won't be long now," he said. There were square windows along the side and he could see figures moving around behind them. Most of them seemed to be looking at him. He waved to them nonchalantly. They didn't wave back. "I think I'm about to have a close encounter of the third kind," he said. He'd watched the movie six times on the ship. Strange noises began emanating from different parts of the ship. Some kind of loudspeakers. After Windgate listened for ten minutes he realized the sounds had a beat. "Well, it isn't Bach, that's for damn sure." There was a metallic clunk and an opening appeared in the side of the ship. It got larger and larger. A door levered downward becoming a ramp large enough to disembark an M1 Main Battle Tank. Puce-colored steam billowed from the opening. Windgate leaned forward and tried to peer through the steam. He caught a whiff of something and quickly sat back. "Peeeyuck! This isn't going to be easy," he thought. The odor was reminiscent of decaying eggs. "Where are the little skinny guys with the big black eyes and angelic faces?" Nothing happened. Windgate was pretty sure something inside the ship was looking at him trying make up his, her or its mind if they should come out and say, hello. "Hey, it's okay," he said, "just don't ask any stupid questions." A shape appeared in the mist emanating from the door, followed by two much larger shapes. "I'll be dipped in salsa, they look like people, you know, human beings!" He felt a surge of disappointment. He had been looking forward to something more bizarre. They were moving really slow. The sounds from the ships speakers had altered their beat and Windgate noticed it matched the pace of the beings coming down the ramp. Being a fatalist, he waited patiently for them to reach the ground. "Let's see, at this pace they should reach the ground in about six hours and fifteen minutes." This was just a little Windgate joke. It only took fifteen minutes. The guy in front was short and over weight or maybe just right. Windgate found himself falling pray to the arrogance which permits one race to measure another by its own yardstick. He hopped out of the dune buggy and walked slowly over to the three people. He correctly assumed it wouldn't be a good idea to rush over, throw his arms around the little guy and offer him a double dap and high-five. The two people standing behind the pudgy guy fanned out four or five feet on either side of their leader, at least Windgate assumed he was the leader. They pointed black, mean-looking objects at him. Like I said, Windgate was intelligent. He stopped immediately and put his hands, open, out to his sides. He tried on a nice non-threatening smile, deciding not to show any teeth. He read that showing your teeth in some societies was a good way to get eaten. This proves conclusively, once and for all, how far mankind has moved up the evolutionary scale. "Hello, nice day isn't it," Windgate said, looking at the sky. The Leader, as Windgate thought of him, looked at the sky nervously as though he expected another load of Rock N' Roll Baptists to decant their zanies on the plain in front of him. "Urr..guck..froomish," it said. Its voice was low and mellifluous, quite pleasant. "I live over that way," Windgate said pointing toward the trees. The other guys I came with ate those peaches and died, you can use their houses if you want, I don't mind." "Urr..guck..froomish," it said. Windgate wondered if that meant, hello, or good-bye, or who the hell are you? "I'm going to have to learn these guys language." He glanced at the two large hostile types and smiled. "I'm a little sleepy, I'm going to get a bite to eat and go to bed, see you tomorrow. Don't eat the peaches." "Urr..guck..Froomish," The leader said a little impatiently. "And a happy day to you, Mr. Froomish," Windgate said. The leaders' expression changed dramatically. Windgate decided he might be smiling. Mr. Froomish bowed slightly at the waist and held his hand up palm outward. He had five fingers and a opposable thumb just like humans and chimpanzees. Mr. Froomish tucked his thumb under and spread his fingers at the middle in a vee holding the first two and last two fingers together. "Chood frenz dur prat." "Holy shit, these guys are Vulcans!" Windgate said. He looked at the Leader's ears carefully. "Damn, no points, small, flat and round. Well you never know," he thought. He raised his hand in a creditable Vulcan salute and said, "Live Long and Prosper!" The Leader giggled and slapped his thighs insanely. He settled down after a moment and went back to, "Urr..guck..Froomish." Windgate had and idea and tried it out. "He pointed his finger at the Leader and said, "Froomish," then pointed at himself and said, "Wingate." "Durr..guck..Ingrate." "No, man, no, that's Windgate." "Ingrate." Big time smile. What the hell, there's probably lot's of Froomish's words I can't pronounce either. "Okay, Froomish, I have to go now. I'll see you tomorrow. We'll continue the language lesson then. See you later dude." Windgate headed off into the forest to his elm tree. The Leader was non-plussed. He looked at his two enforcers and shrugged. "This person is weird a whole lot," he said. "It would be good if we sent this alien creature to the Gods as an offering," they answered. "That is an un-righteous attitude, meat brain. What has the One True God taught us. Try and remember, I know it isn't easy," Froomish said sarcastically. A chastened Meat Brain and his pal answered in unison. "Faith, Luck and Music," they said, "and give the devil his due," Meat Brain added. "That's right, try not to forget. Right then, we will await further developments." The next day Froomish brought his people out onto the fruited plain. Windgate, who was not much interested in another language lesson at the time, watched them from a tree at the edge of the forest. They played extraordinarily loud music and chanted a lot of nonsense all day. Wingate got bored and went for a walk in the forest. Bashi followed him nailing the occasional grub. "I don't know, Bashi, there's something about these people. I feel like I've met them before. It's probably all in my mind, but then why shouldn't it be, almost everything else is." "Groof, groof." Bashi took a dump on a caterpillar, unknowingly causing the caterpillar grave personal distress. "I really think all that noise might have been music and the chanting sure could have had some kind of religious significance. Well, no matter, "waiting is" as Robert Henshaw said." It was too soon for Bashi to answer. "I wonder if they have girls, you know young girls. What if they're...you know, different? I've read that alien girl's equipment..." "Groof, groof." No harm, no foul, this time. Two days later Windgate came back from where he'd been and decided to visit the visitors, although in truth, Windgate was pretty sure they intended to stay. When he got to where they'd parked their ship, he found a hoard of people busily erecting small structures shaped exactly like bread boxes. "Figures," Windgate said. "These guys don't have much architectural imagination. A dozen or so men and women were walking around with electro-mechanical gadgets measuring things. Some of them were digging in the dirt and laying out lines here and there. "'They're preparing to till the soil, Bashi." He looked around and Bashi was gone. He heard a faint Groof, groof from the edge of the forest. "Well, he's just a fowl. Lot's of people probably make him nervous." Froomish spotted Windgate headed for the camp and ran out to meet him. "Groan peen, Ingrate," he said cheerfully. Froomish decided it was his duty to teach Windgate his language so that he could further instruct him in the correct behavior toward God. Froomish was a very devout person. "First thing I've got to do is get some clothes on him," Froomish thought. The women might get sinful ideas. He's built like a Prode-Trummer. Froomish spent the rest of the day leading Windgate around telling him the names of things in his language. Windgate picked it up quickly. When Windgate came the next morning, Froomish brought him a green ship's suit and insisted that he wear it. Windgate knew about the clothes thing from the old time and didn't make a fuss. He could always take it off when he got back to his tree. It took three weeks for Windgate to reach a point where he understood, what was being said. He learned two things that were significant. The real leader, called the Grand Exalted Musician, was Froomish's wife, and that the young female person not paying any attention was their adopted daughter. He thought she was very pretty, especially since he stopped noticing the smell. He decided to make her acquaintance and walked over to where she was sitting staring at the sky. "Hi, my name's, Windgate. What's yours?" "Hi, Ingrate, I'm Ambergris." "Nice name, what's it mean?" "Sweet, smelling." "Sure it is. You want to go for a walk, have a look at my tree?" "Wow! I've never heard that one before. What the hell, if you've got it flaunt it," she gave him an intimate look. They walked into the forest together. Bashi followed along at a distance, to shy to come near. "That's my friend, Bashi. I think he's a Groof bird." They both heard a faint, groof, groof, from the brush. "Sounds about right to me," she said. "The people," she pointed back in the direction of the ship, "are going around naming everything after things and places, even people back at the old place. They don't have much imagination at all." "No kidding! I'd tell you that's strange, but it isn't." Just before they got to Windgate's tree they came across a peach tree. It was covered with pretty fruit. The scent of candy filled the air. "Don't eat that crap, Ingrate, it'll kill you." "Thanks, I won't." No need to tell her he'd already figured that out. As soon as they got inside his tree they got rid of their clothes at light speed. That evening as they walked back to Ambergris's camp hand in hand she said she was glad they met. "You're built better than a Prode Trummer!" "Thanks Ambergris. That was a lot of fun, we'll have to try it again sometime." "How about now," she said, with a lascivious chuckle. "Now works for me Amber. I've been wanting to screw my brains out for a long time." It was dark when they got back. The whole area was lit by powerful lights on tripods. The people were playing loud music and dancing around shaking their bodies furiously. Windgate and Ambergris stood at the edge of the circle and watched for a while. "What's the name of this song?" Windgate asked. "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On," Ambergris replied. "Right. Should've known. It's awful loud. The people who brought me here used to sing like this too, the same song as a matter of fact. I don't like it much." ""I don't either. They sing loud and shake like that so they won't think about sex," Ambergris said. "No kidding. That's a little peculiar," Windgate said charitably. She gave him a look. "A lot more than a little, sweetheart." "Does it work? I mean do they not think about sex after they do this?" "Not worth a damn." "Figures. People back at the other place were always doing weird things so they won't think about sex, then they'd give up and do things so they would think about it." They stood together hand in hand watching the weirdness for a while longer. "Who's the female in the fancy chair?" "That's my adopted mother, I mean the woman who adopted me, you know, the Grand Exalted Musician. It was pretty strange. I was doing okay when she and Froomish saw me and decided to take me with them. Her name is Saint Troon na Froomish. She says she's a holy woman and God talks to her. After the first time God talked to her she founded the One True Religion, which they call.." "Don't tell me," Windgate interrupted, "Rock N' Roll Baptists." "You're pretty damn smart, Ingrate." "Thanks, Amber, I'm getting the hang of things." "This religion stuff takes some getting used to," she said. Windgate nodded sagely. "How many One True Religions do you think there are?" "Oh, well, I don't know. The universe is a pretty big place." "This is a fact," Windgate said. "She's not very bright, and she doesn't listen worth a damn. I told her not to eat that fruit, you know the one that smells like candy? I told all the others the same thing. She said I was simple minded, she had discussed this with God and God said, 'I put it here especially for the people.'" She sighed. "It makes me sad. They've been eating it for a couple days now." "I know how you feel," Windgate said. "You want to come over to the ship and watch movies?" "Sure. Can we fool around after?" "During if you want." "Super. Let's go." Windgate and Ambergris spent a lot of time together, going for walks, driving to the lake in his dune buggy. Bashi got over its shyness and took to riding around on Windgate's shoulder again. The first time Bashi went groof, groof and took a dump, Ambergris said it can't do that anymore, that she sure wasn't going to fool around with someone who had heaps of Groof dung on his shoulder. Windgate was a little put out, he'd gotten used to it. Sex has always been conditional, he just didn't know it. He got over it. Three months later the people who came in the bread box got sleepy and lay down in the shelters and never woke up. Windgate and Ambergris found them that way when the music stopped. "We can't leave them there," Ambergris said. "I'll get the electric back hoe. We'll bury them out on the fruited plain." It was a lot of work and took three days. When it was finished Windgate and Ambergris played loud music and said a few generic prayers. They felt pretty bad for a week then got over it. A week later they were sitting on a small hill over looking the grasslands. Wolf 204's sun was setting in the south. "What do we do now, Ingrate?" she asked. "I don't know about you, Sweetheart, but I'm going to wait for the next disaster." "Oh, well, sure. I always do that." "Nice night. Wonder what they're doing back at the other place?" Windgate said. "Well, I don't know, but we aren't alone," Ambergris said. "That's for sure!" Windgate said.
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