TUNNEL IN THE SKY by ROBERT A. HEINLEIN

“Good. You get one bonus out of losing your batch. You won’t miss the dance tonight. Art, you shouldn’t start a melt so late in the week; you need your day of rest . . . and so do Shorty and Doug.”

“I know. But when it’s ready to go I want to fire it off.

Working the way we do is discouraging; before you can make anything you have to make the thing that makes it and usually you have to make something else to make that. Futile!”

“You don’t know what ‘futile’ means. Ask our ‘Department of Agriculture.’ Did you take a look at the farm before you came over the wall?”

“Well, we walked through it.”

“Better not let Cliff catch you, or he’ll scalp you. I might hold you for him.”

“Humph! A lot of silly grass! Thousands of hectares around just like it.”

“That’s right. Some grass and a few rows of weeds. The pity is that Cliff will never live to see it anything else. Nor little Cliff. Nevertheless our great grandchildren will eat white bread, Art. But you yourself will live to build precision machinery you know it can be done, which, as Bob Baxter says, is twothirds of the battle. Cliff can’t live long enough to eat a slice of light, tasty bread. It doesn’t stop him.”

“You should have been a preacher, Rod.” Art stood up and sniffed himself. “I’d better get a bath, or the girls won’t dance with me.”

“I was just quoting. You’ve heard it before. Save me some soap.”

Caroline hit two bars of Arkansas Traveler, Jimmy slapped his drum, and Roy called, “Square ’em up, folks!” He waited, then started in high, nasal tones:

“Honor y’r partners!

“Honor y’r corners!

“Now all jump up and when y’ come down”

Rod was not dancing; the alternate set would be his turn. The colony formed eight squares, too many for a caller, a mouth organ, and a primitive drum all unassisted by amplifying equipment. So half of them babysat and gossiped while the other half danced. The caller and the orchestra were relieved at each intermission to dance the other sets.

Most of them had not known how to squaredance. Agnes Pulvermacher had put it over almost singlehanded, in the face of kidding and resistance training callers, training dancers, humming tunes to Caroline, cajoling Jimmy to carve and shrink a jungle drum. Now she had nine out of ten dancing.

Rod had not appreciated it at first (he was not familiar with the history of the Mormon pioneers) and had regarded it as a nuisance which interfered with work. Then he saw the colony, which had experienced a bad letdown after the loss in one night of all they had built, an apathy he had not been able to lift he saw this same colony begin to smile and joke and work hard simply from being exposed to music and dancing.

He decided to encourage it. He had trouble keeping time and could not carry a tune, but the bug caught him, too; he danced not well but with great enthusiasm.

The village eventually limited dances to Sabbath nights, weddings, and holidays and made them “formal” . . . which meant that women wore grass skirts. Leather shorts, breechclouts, and slacks (those not long since cut up for rags) were not acceptable. Sue talked about making a real square dance dress as soon as she got far enough ahead in her weaving, and a cowboy shirt for her husband . . . but the needs of the colony made this a distant dream.

Music stopped, principals changed, Caroline tossed her mouth organ to Shorty, and came over. “Come on, Roddie, let’s kick some dust.”

“I asked Sue,” he said hastily and truthfully. He was careful not to ask the same girl twice, never to pay marked attention to any female; he had promised himself long ago that the day he decided to marry should be the day he resigned and he was not finding it hard to stay married to his job. He liked to dance with Caroline; she was a popular partner except for a tendency to swing her partner instead of letting him swing her but he was careful not to spend much social time with her because she was his right hand, his alter ego.

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