Monday Meetings

I grab the piccolo. It weighs as much as a hammer. Its rugged, no-dust metal body is protected by an inflexible, shock-absorbing rubber case. Others from the “main” planet would complain it's “out of tune”. That don't matter to us.

9-10-11. Home. 6-7-2-3. To give. 4-3-3. Water. 9-2-3. To absorb. Home, give me my water absorbent pads. The instrument certainly beats whistling, especially from this distance.

Whilst i wait for the delivery, i continue working on the farm.

I drive the furrower into the ground. I pull it back, drawing out a line, adding just a few more arm-lengths out. The dust storms always blow away the plants.

I toss in a few seeds and a water absorbtion packet. The humidity in the air gets absorbed in them. They're a cool thing. They even work under the red soil, which the harsh wind would quickly push into my channel. It saves pumping water with the electricity we don't have and it's perfect for this flooded, greenhouse planet. I don't think it's a good idea to rely on electricity here. That other planet was colonised to make it. They don't get paid anymore.

A few minutes later, the bird drops the packets of water absorber and i toss them into the almost empty bag. I finally uncurve my back slowly and look around me. To my right the sun slowly goes down the sky. Soon it'll be too dark to farm.

I turn back to the house, pressing the keys for communication.

9-10-11. Home. 9-11-9-1. Dinner. I'll be going home for dinner.

The house is just before the massive hill curves upwards. From there, you can see the whole island. Sometimes the chief goes over there and announces stuff to the island using their hunting horn. The last thing we've heard is that a wet bulb is coming. It's obvious now i think of that humidity. I guess i was too busy getting the land ready for the next harvest.

These hills. I was born in them. It's so difficult to climb for those “normal” people down on that green circle, i've heard. That's why we use the instruments to communicate. Saves us the effort of screaming, or worse, navigating these canyons.

I trudge through the oppressive humidity to the house. There, the dinner has been cooked. The fire-oven dosen't really help the heat. I gently seat myself at the table.

Before i can begin talking about stuff, i hear that distinctive horn from the peak as it repeats its message in our direction, the 4th out of 6 turning-points. 1-1-2. Hello citizens. 9-6. Earth-country. 5-4-6. All of them. 9-9-11-1. The supplies. 5-6-6. Later...?! All earth countries have supply delays?! We don't have enough humidity pads. What's the point of colonising these new worlds if they can't even give those worlds what they need? I'm sick and tired of them.

I take a gasp of this thin air. It's too humid. Been like that for years.

9-6. 5-4-6. 9-1-9-11 An earth country, all of them, they're sending humans. A brief murmur of hope runs around us. 6-7. To observe. 3-8. Strange. 10-6. Our islands.

Looks like they're treating us as if we're some form of zoo.

This sucks. I step outside and send out my hope. 10-6. Our islands. 5-3-4-4. To diverge [from]. 9-1. Earth.

7-7. What? was the reply.

I transpose an octave higher to get through this thin air.

10-6 5-3-4-4 9-1

1-1-3. To Talk. 5-6-7. Tomorrow. Oh yeah, i forgot the Monday Meetings were tomorrow

I come back in for dinner. After a few hours of constant whistling to each other at dinner, through this empty air, it's time to get back to bed. We have a meeting tomorrow.

Eventually my mind runs off to where i recall being a young child. So many instruments! I took the piccolo. It was so high that my brother with his silly farty horn couldn't break my shrill tones.

I also had to learn to whistle with the mouth. Many a-time i've needed to when the piccolo is either too shrill or not with me. Back on that weird planet, they use their voices instead of whistles. Apparently it's quicker, but nobody can hear spoken word here. Heck, only the old people know how to speak nowadays!

***

I'm at the meeting. Monday meetings. The table is so large people need to whistle at one another to get their ideas across.

The wet bulb. The land management. The growing humidity. The approaching winter.

I fade out during the boring talk. I've known it all since last Monday. 

Our seas are too high nowadays. Earth sent too much hydrogen and oxygen. They have their own sea level raise to take care of so they sent us their hydrogen and oxygen to deal with their own problems. They were controlled by those dinky robots mixing them together and throwing them into the atmosphere. That's why it's so hot and humid, still. The next island can almost be waded to. I wish i could more often. A good friend lives there. 

It's been 70 earth years since humans first reached this ground. I remember history lessons, ahaha, we learnt about how the astronauts had to use radios in their silly head things. It cracked us up. Nobody needs radios when they have shrill instruments. Earthlings are weaklings. It's our motto nowadays. Their instruments for anything are so delicate. They love to play in those delicate concert buildings because they don't have anything better to do.

Apparently, there was once some umbilical unsevered chord of ships running back and forth. They carried everything needed for the now-flooded city they built here.

I'm 16, going on 17. I never understood why we're still so connected to earth. We make our own food. We live on our own. We don't need much, except say the occasional wet pad container and luxury. Maybe it's because that dumb Earth has been holding back all that luxury expensive stuff like factories and their constant flow of products and proper fertiliser.

Our population is growing. Our islands are the most prosperous region, just a few trumpet links from Shra Isle. That's where the supplies come. It's just a big target for those dumb imprecise Earth ships to hit. The people on earth even send parts of their "internet" thing every now and then. I don't understand really, nobody here cares for that negative crap. Working out on the farm is far more fun and rewarding. 

People on that earth place are constantly tired. We have 25 hour days. it makes a difference, honestly! Maybe it's because we don't have those weird “overpriced” “coffee shops” like “starbronc” or “costo”?

Our island holds the Martian government despite the fact that the Shria Isle is bigger. I think it's because the leader likes good weather and to be able to look at their whole home island, coast to coast.

Suddenly, a whistle awakens me from my drifting thoughts.

7-8-4-4. My name. 5-6. Second person pronoun. 2-4. Question participle. You?

I remember that message i sent yesterday up the hill. We begin to discuss independence. It's a thing most of us have been grumbling about. The older ones still hold ties to earth, but most of the demographic is focused around a little older then me.

After over an hour of intense discussion, we reach the conclusion that we've waited too long for this independence. We're going to request those factories and documents. Maybe that "internet" holds those guides on stuff. I particularly need to know how to make a factory. The schools need more batteries so they can lean how to speak over longer distances, like to the end of the table. It's a neat bilingual place, this planet.

Damn those earthlings for thinking our culture needs to go. They love unionising. It's no accident that 20 years ago Asia assimilated into China. And Canada and Mexico seceded to the USA. They always want more power. Maybe they're building up against us. Maybe they're threatened by our slow growth.

At first they sent their criminals to us trying to kill our dangerously prosperous settlers mining in what is now seabed. They drowned a large part of our population in a genocide. That's why we only have 480,000 people nowadays.

Those in Olympus use lights and Morse code. We don't know them well. But they're the closest to earth. They'll take the most convincing. But still, there's a reason they're here.

We've started writing the email. It'll take 15 minutes to get there. As the correspondence continues, we'll only get closer. That's dangerous. They have nukes. We only have shrill instruments. Our planet, it's absolutely covered by water. We're good at water. Radiation isn't good at water.

Finally, we'll determine the barter for independence; our water skills and removal of all government-sponsored trade, all government-sponsored subsidies, and other ways we made that “money” thing.

After the email's written, we go back home. Meeting Monday's done and we retreat to our farm-houses.

Earth foolishly gave us cities and developed dwellings, but they fell short as supplies fell short. We don't have the factories and industry to support it. I prefer it this way. I've heard on earth that people choke from the smog. They do so much work in these glass greenhouses and then fall from balconies on purpose. Seems a bit useless to me.

***

Next Monday. It took nearly a week before they replied to the email with a firm “NO”.

Onto plan B. Which we didn't have.

Quickly, we glossed over the previous topics. Yeah, the wet bulb sucks. Go for a swim! Eventually, we finally reached the topic of independence.

Someone suggest more diplomacy. Everyone replied with a firm 5-6. "NO". Too boring, too slow, too uncertain.

Someone suggested Armageddon. Everyone replied with a firmer 5-6. "NO". Too dangerous, too fast, too uncertain.

But then someone came up with an idea. What about a firm block, a firm "NO" to earth? Everyone replied with an... 5-4. "ooh". Just right, just right, Just right.

We don't need earth. We don't need their money. We have farms, some semblance of industry, and our own culture. We speak legends of the red soil our creators met, the tiny dangerous sand long-forgotten. We speak legends of what was once the horrible air, the dry ground. We don't care for their earthly gods and other crazy stuff. We have the land, the sea, the instruments. We worked hard for this place. We turned a red shithole into some semblance of sanity. Earth's 10% isn't enough.

And then i realise. A trade block to our planet wouldn't mean much except the amputation of a failed project with only a slight hope of potential. To block trade with Venus, their unpaid power station, would mean something.

We do have diplomatic ties to the Venus civilization and their Mercury program. They, using Earth's money, built a Dyson Sphere. Riches! Money! Brave settlers get brave amounts of money! But yet, every now and then, an airship falls to the ground because it couldn't afford a balloon refill. Every now and then, the air conditioning fails and the heat seeps in, followed by the gases. Only dead bodies remain. 

Earth never pays debt and always thinks about itself! It's the trumpet, taking the soundscape for itself. We're the piccolos. We're the double basses. We're pushing forwards, they're pulling back!

As we whistled, we began writing the e-mail to Venus. Only problem? They speak Chinese. We speak English. 

But wait, our whistle-languages are the same! Venus emailed us once about the difficulty of getting the spoken word through the air. We sent them our language specification! The Venice settlers just use mirrors and different gap sizes, and we just use tones!

So, we transcribed our whistle-language into the email and it was sent with the approval of us all. Luckily, the writing systems hadn't been given time to split. Except three (3). Martian three keeps the top part, Venus the bottom part, like a small reversed c, either below or above the midline. Earth keeps all of it.

It was just some propaganda to make us think we're separate and Earth controls both of us… oh and the letter B too suffered the same fate.

***

Next Wednesday. A meeting was called from the hill. It had a positive connotation morpheme at the end, and even a number 2 sprinkled about, as if to indicate planet two!

We rushed in happily, whistles of celebration punctuating the air. Without even being told, we knew Venus agreed.

The leader read out the email to the island population.

They would remotely give us some electricity and sunlight. They would also send us classified earth documents and give us quarter-control over Mercury. However, this came at the cost of some of our autonomy. We had some of the best farming land in the solar system, untouched by the bad climate change on earth. Venus wanted that. They'd take our food, and we'd take their light. We two are better then earth. Our end goal is to make earth want us and give us everything we need.

Just as it was finishing off, we saw a bright light in the sky, coming slightly off the horizon of that tiny sun thing. Venus had finally blessed us with 1950s Earth-like heat! It worked!

The leaders were probably writing emails of success and requests to buy the solar panels needed to kick-start industry. It was the cheapest way to make electricity available. Microwave energy would have to wait until we could generate the electricity. We had a bright future, and the renewed heat being blasted from those solar mirrors was the perfect representation.

Goodbye, old friend Earth, good luck living without electricity. We hope you're kinder next time.