Clodagh grunted. “Whit got this batch. Said it was a bleeding shame what SpaceBase did to unprotected coffee beans.” She nodded to a corner of her crowded workspace. “I grind them myself when I need them, and keep them frozen till I do.”
“Wouldn’t that be a bit difficult to do right now?” Marmion asked delicately.
“Nah. Even the thaw doesn’t affect the permafrost cache much.”
“Ah, yes!” Marmion said. “I have read, of course, of the permafrost layer that is so like frozen rock, but I had not appreciated until now its practical applications.”
“Well, usually we only use it in summer,” Clodagh said.
“So then good coffee is as much a treat for you as it is for us,” Marmion said and took another grateful sip. The milk in the pitcher had been fresh, too, cream rising to the top. Judging by various-sized lumps, the sweetener had also been home-ground.
“That it is,” Clodagh said.
Marmion felt something press against her lower leg and dropped one hand to touch a furry skull, which she obediently scratched.
“Your cats survive the extremes of Petaybee’s temperatures?”
“Bred for it. A course, they’re smart to begin with, and they use their instincts, too.”
“As do most of you living here on Petaybee, I’d say,” Marmion remarked, getting closer to the purpose of her visit.
Clodagh folded her arms in front of her and said emphatically, “We’ve learned to live here. I wouldn’t much want to live anywhere else.”
As shrewd a woman as she’d ever encountered, Marmion decided approvingly.
“I shouldn’t like to see you anywhere else but here in your home, dispensing superb hospitality to those lucky enough to find their way here, Miz Senungatuk,” Marmion went on. “It’s so rare these days to find people content with what they are and where they are.”
Clodagh regarded her for one long moment, taking in Marmion’s practical but elegant outfit, as well as her expressive face.
“Not knowing who you are or where you belong can cause a person a lot of problems. This planet’s not an easy place to live, but it’s what we’re all used to and we manage fine.”
Hovering in the air were the unspoken words: when we’re left alone to get on with our lives as we want to live them.
“Would you have enough coffee left in the pot for me to have another half cup, Miz Senungatuk?” Marmion asked, fingers laced about her cup so she wouldn’t appear to expect the extra indulgence.
Clodagh’s face lost the tension it had been displaying and suddenly softened into a smile. “Please call me Clodagh. I’m more used to it.”
“Marmion is what my friends call me. Even Marmie’s allowed.” And the very wealthy, very clever Dame Algemeine held her cup out as unassumingly as any supplicant.
“You, too, Faber Nike? Clodagh asked when she had filled Marmion more than halfway.
“Don’t mind if I do … Clodagh.”
Clodagh poured him some more coffee, then passed the rolls around again.
“I had hoped to meet more of the people of Kilcoole, Clodagh,” Marmion said, her tone brisker now. “I’m here as I believe Whit will have told you, to investigate the unusual events which the planet seems to be taking the blame for.”
“Planet’s not taking any blame, Marmion,” Clodagh said with a grin and a dismissive wave of her hand. “Planet’s doing what’s needful, too. Showing folks what it will and will not allow done to it. Same’s you wouldn’t want a lot of holes dug in your front yard or pieces of your garden blown up. Whittaker got that message loud and clear, but that son of his didn’t. Nor some othersbut the ones who did understood real well.”
“You know the planet did this on its own cognizance?” Faber asked, his voice gentle, the way he spoke when he didn’t want to scare misinformation out of people.
“If you mean did the planet do it without us helping it, yes. Not that anybody could help a planet if it’s got its own mind made up and is perfectly capable of making that known.”
“The problem we face,” Faber went on, “is establishing that the planet is the source of the unusual occurrences.”