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Good communication methods were vital in any human settlement, and nothing was more emblematic of that than the Lodestone marketplace message board. Signy remembered the planning meeting that had given rise to the board—one of the first such meetings in the Solace Ring. It had been a long, long day, and the questions on the table were anything but small. What was the comms protocol in an emergency, if the relay network went down? How should they get the word out if, say, the water supply was contaminated, or if people fleeing a cave-in should head for a particular meeting spot? The head of the library team had come up with the wonderfully simple suggestion of a physical message board set up in a central location, which could double as the default gathering place in emergencies. Unlike most things at that meeting (and all the meetings that followed), everybody immediately agreed to that idea. And so the library team set up a large board in what became the market square, and ever since, they’d maintained an adjacent storage cabinet stocked with ink pens (when there was ink), charcoal pencils (when there was sugar to spare for charcoal), bamboo paper (which rarely went out of supply), and sticky putty (always easy to make). This way, emergency notices could be tacked up as necessary.
That was the original intent. The message board had swiftly evolved into . . . well, a message board. If you wanted to communicate something mundane, you hopped onto a computer and posted a message to the comms network. But if you really cared about it—or, conversely, if it wasn’t that important and you wanted to get a laugh—you wrote it down on paper and stuck it to the board. Some people liked to get artistic with their notices, painting them in bright colors and adding illustrations. Others preferred to go to the library and print out typed flyers. Either way, once a notice went up, it stayed up. New ones just got stuck on top, like a tree growing new rings. There were two publicly scheduled days a year when the library team cleaned the board off, because if they didn’t, the board would easily have the highest mass of any object in Solace’s orbit.
Signy and Cora perused the board now, as was mandatory during any market run. Some of the notices were for things Signy had already seen online—the biannual hardware swap, the Mourning Day feast. But many other dispatches had been noted by hand and hand only. Claire on Palomino had grown too many cucumbers and invited “anybody who likes a good crunch” to come by her moonlet and take as many as they wanted. Jessie on Horn was hoping for a few extra hands to help them swap out a water tank. As always, someone had put up a crossword puzzle for any passersby to solve. Signy still didn’t know who the crossword enthusiast was, but she suspected it was Benjamin in spoke six. It seemed like his kind of fun.
The pack on Cora’s back was piled high with food and sundries, and it clattered a bit as she began to laugh with her whole chest. “Oh my god, look at this,” she said.
Signy glanced away from the notice that had caught her eye and looked to where Cora was pointing. The handwriting was rough and inexperienced.
HOLLY WILLIAMS WHO IS MY MOM TOOK AWAY MY DROEN KITE FOR NO RESON!
IF YOU HAVE A EXRA PLEASE BRING IT ME AS SOON AS POSIBEL.
I CAN TRADE.
JACOB WILLIAMS
NUMBER 2, SPOKE 8
PS, IF YOU SEE MY MOM TELL HER YOU THINK THIS IS UNFAYER!!
Signy shut her eyes and laughed. “Oh, no,” she said. “Poor Holly.” Jacob had been a handful from day one, and by year six, he hadn’t shown any sign of growing out of it.
“Listen, if somebody took my drone kite for no reason, I’d be pissed, too,” Cora said.
“I am very certain Holly had a reason,” Signy said.
Cora shook her head gravely and rapped her knuckle against the notice. “Says here that there wasn’t,” she said. “We better tell her we think it’s unfair.”
“You go right ahead.” Signy gestured back at the other side of the board. She likewise had something to point out, and she thought it best to do so lightly, while Cora was smiling. “Hey,” she said, lowering her voice to a more serious level. “Have you seen this?”
OUR HISTORY IS ALWAYS WITH US.
NONE OF US HAVE TO CARRY IT ALONE.
New support group forming for those struggling with survivor’s guilt.
Open to all community members not born in the Ring.
First session Thursday, May 9 at 20:00.
Gathering Hall, Lodestone Medical Clinic
Chicory and light snacks will be provided.
For more questions, please contact any member of the Mental Health team.
Cora puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “Do you think I need to go?”
“Not as such,” Signy said. “I just thought you should see it.”
“Because I—” Cora adjusted the straps of her backpack. “I dunno, I feel like I’ve gotten a lot better with it.”
“You have,” Signy replied, putting her hand on Cora’s shoulder. “And maybe other people might benefit from hearing your perspective.” She noted the way Cora was chewing on the inside of her own cheek, which she only did if she was feeling vulnerable. “And maybe, also, being at ease with it doesn’t preclude you from still needing support sometimes.”
Cora put her hand over Signy’s and pressed down affectionately. “I have plenty of that,” she said. “And besides, it’s . . . I’m . . . I wouldn’t be talking about the same thing.”
Signy understood that sentiment in her bones, in a way nobody else could. She and Cora had a different starting point than the rest of their community, and as deeply as they’d embedded themselves here, there were moments, still, when that difference felt big. “That’s a fair reason to not go,” Signy said. “I just thought you should know it’s happening, either way.” She eyed the quiet tautness in her wife’s face and decided that anything further would be pushing. She kissed Cora’s cheek and asked, “Would you still like to get pie?”
