By David C. Daoust
Charles Haul Senior, aka Grandpa Haul, was raised in what was known as the ‘Time of Dispersion’. The City-Stations had been separated from the Ark Ships, each orbiting its own sector of the Solar System. The Ark Ships had already built the star ports throughout the entire Onion, and set into motion the terraforming processes that would truly free the humans.
The Democratic Assembly was in heated debate as to how the people would proceed. This was all long before the Factions War, all long before the first shots were fired. When he was young, the split was even throughout the Assembly, what would become the Vanguard, pushed a plan known as ‘Solid Foundation’, whilst those royals that would become the Alliance, fought for their ‘Freedom’ plan.
In truth, Grandpa Haul never understood ‘Solid Foundation’, he was not sure anyone did, including those blindly loyal to the royal families that championed it; loyalists largely considered to be either zealots or sycophants by the rest of the Onion. Of course the plan entitled ‘Freedom’ seemed to make sense to all, especially after centuries in the iron grip of the Ark Age. The plans popularity soared. It was a time, when the majority of the people just wanted off the ships, out of the crammed living quarters; any window, any gate would do.
Grandpa Haul had first slipped out as labor, constructing the Planetary Domes the Royals were having built. This was a freedom few people experienced, or even knew of, this was the first time they were free to do as they saw fit. These were men that flouted the rules in such a way that it could be considered childishness, as though the babysitter had been called away, and the children could run amuck in their absence. They’d become a colony of their own, a tribe, crammed in bunks and workman quarters. The first people to set foot on solid ground in literally centuries, they were a culture of their own. A culture of thieves and gamblers, taking advantage of themselves and/or any situation that could turn a profit.
Grandpa Haul, a paragon of this culture, exceeded all those around him, reveled in the freedom for years on end, until finally his attention was diverted. A diversion experienced by all men at one time or another. He had been captivated by a beauty of rare standards. Long legs and voluptuous lips were all he could see, the dollar signs seemed to fade as the prospect for a future took a new shape.
The people were slowly dispersing from the crammed conditions of the City-Stations, some moving to the small workman colonies, while others, who could afford it, chose to explore the vast regions of the new solar system; Rovers, small ships and the like pocked the Onion. All these changes helped to bring down the concentrated population, which in turn gave way to the repeal of old laws.
And thanks to the repeal of the laws that kept men and women from starting families ‘naturally’, laws which became obsolete, Grandpa Haul was free to envision a family without petition, without permission, and, most of all, without a lab overseeing conception.
The woman had led him back to the City-Stations. In truth, to where he did not want to be, but for the sake of the woman, he set aside his scoundrel ways. They were wed, his first son was born, and he rejoiced. Though as the years ticked by, his nature reared its ugly head, a craving developed, a craving to reinvigorate his self-image, his days before; his glory days could not be over! Though as he became torn between the life before and his new life now, his mind did the work for him, his wife became less and less of what he had seen, and more a caricature of some nightmarish spouse. All of which led to a witty slew of jokes that served him well later in life.
Despite all he felt for her, at the time, she was little more than a warden to the man, a man who wanted to roam the Onion, ducking the system. Profiting anyway he could.
Those that lived amongst the City-Stations were known as Milkers, Lotus Eaters, and later, they would become known as Huddlers. As despite the fact the population was slowly lessening aboard the Stations of old, these people chose to huddle together, cramming their families together in one living quarter, two or three families in one such area, as had been done throughout the end of the Ark Age, though without the overpopulation that had forced it in the past. They wanted to maintain the life they knew, the life their families and ancestors knew.
Grandpa Haul could not take it. He almost snapped when his wife had moved them from their private quarters, to join with other families. She did not want their sons to miss the joys she had experienced in her youth.
He had to get out.
Away.
He was not a Huddler! He was not a lotus eater! He did not want to milk the Ark Ships. It was only a matter of time before he found his opportunity.
The Mining Cartels were hiring.
It did not take long for Grandpa Haul to convince his wife, it was for the better that he had to ‘go’, to sacrifice his time with his family, to bring the coin back to the community… for the betterment of all.
