Colony survival game too bright11/13/2022 ![]() ![]() He kept to himself and only attended the church ceremonies whenever his dad was giving an important sermon. I knew he weren't like that, Sal was one of the kindest people I ever did know. He didn't want me to get this impression of him as a spoilt brat who manipulated his way to acceptance. I think it's why he was so reluctant to show me his home town after we finished university. People treated him differently, scared of what he might say to his father should they treat him any different. So Sal already had the freedom of the community as it were. Sal's father was a reverend in the local church. He and his family were very well regarded in their local community. Now, life on the colony for Sal weren't all work. I can vouch for that, being a fellow from Reach, these outer colony folks are just more in tune with themselves and the galaxy and large. Sal often said as he wrote, 'we are God's works of art, to show him our love we must create our own works of art.' If it wasn't for Harvest, that boy would not have had such a kind open heart. He coursed through your veins, and filled you with an energetic purpose to create something immortal. God, to Sal - and to me - was the heartbeat of the universe, the pulse of life. God wasn't this man with a beard who cast you down for sinning in some nebulous fashion. See, now this was when Sal developed his idea of God. She said she was always worried about this because it seemed to distract from his religious studies. Anyway, she told me that from about the age of twelve, Sal had been bursting with an energy a creative energy. From the first time I met him, I knew he had some creative spark in him. Fine thing to learn, I always knew he was creative. She told me that he'd made this at age sixteen - we were twenty-one when I learnt this. I'd no idea how talented he was, but there right in front of me was the astonishing, touching deep work of art. She showed me this beautiful woodcarving of Jesus Christ himself. She told me Sal loved woodcutting and sculpting. But anyway she sat me down and we got talking. This was when Sal was in class or out doing something else, I can't rightly mind. I remember once his ma sat me down with this big ol' jug of iced tea with lemons they had grown themselves. That farm weren't everything for Sal, now, don't get that impression. That big old sun was a beautiful, indolent gift. Sal was an embodiment of that farm, and I think he knew it. I daren't think he'd've been who he was without it. But he didn't half talk about that poverty much, he just showed me and we never talked about it again. I don't know how much of that shaped him, I'd daresay a lot. I couldn't believe it, can't imagine that poor young boy of five or six even understood what the hell was happening around him. Said he was lucky his parents happened to have good land, he showed me round his home once, the poverty near him was amazing. ![]() As I was saying, Sal grew up in this proper house, damnation for all outside of our church, y'see? He told me one evening while we lay on the beach on Sigma Octanus IV that he never believed in all that organised religious stuff before he left. Nothing like my own parents, let me tell you. Said that for as long as he could remember, his ma and pa would march him out to church on Sundays and make him pray until his knees were goddamn aching. From what he told me, he was born to Janice and Thomas Moriarty, bunch o'Lutherans. Y'know those tales of kids who dreamt of travelling and escaping their colony? That was Sal. Tall, handsome, his body was lean and cut and he was tanned from that big ol' Harvest sun. I didn't know Sal growing up, we weren't from the same colony you see. A world filled with hopeful people, hardy people." ― Sal on his home. " I grew up on a farm on this colony world right on the edge of the frontier. ![]()
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