One burly, brown-haired resident did notice me, turned to stare as I trudged, pushing the cart towards the encampment. He waved in an off-hand manner, towards a spot to his left. I jerked my wheeled crate around to line up on the space he indicated, and pushed onward.The waving guy continued to approach at a slow gait that brought him alongside.

"Best place nearby," he boomed, pacing me. "Good drainage, and you get shaded by the eastern growth come morning. I'm George Getty, by the way."

A bit younger than Bill, George was still a lot older than me. Dark, wiry stubble decorated his cheeks and dribbled all the way down into his shirt's neckline. Razors weren't part of the care package provided by the Kreeb, evidently.

I stopped and took the man's proffered hand. "Tomas Monroe. I guess everybody here was grabbed up by the Enlightened Servitors?"

George gave up cranking my hand to pull at his ear, shaking his head. "Not all, and some volunteered. Specially those that kind of understand what the Kreeb are trying to do. We haven't any of us been here long--still getting organized. We have to get some kind of civil authority started up here yet. I'm looking for backers with the sense to do that, and watch over the camp. Consider it when the time comes. Think about who was first to step up and help you out." My new buddy poked a finger at the cart. "Speaking of which, want help with that?"

"No,I got it. Camped out before, if what I see scattered around is the same as what's in this cart, I should be OK. What are those Kreeb up to?"

My guide glanced toward a half dozen Bugs wrenching away at a pink dome and shrugged. "Not too sure. The place reminds me of a KOA. Some kind of administration or services building or church mission, I think. The Kreeb busy on it are just workers. Ask 'em anything, they just say to wait till the 'Elucidator's' come."

"The what?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," he shrugged. "All you get out of 'em."

"They tell you where we are?"

"Not in so many words, no. Somewhere supposedly 'safe', whatever that means – The stars are different here."

"The stars?"

"At night. The sky is different. Couple guys here who know that stuff say we aren't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

"Frisco; I've set up kip in the bay area; what's left of it."

"Tryn' to say, we aren't on Earth, Tomas. That give you any ideas?" George stared at me intently. I was still trying to take it all in. A weird feeling, that.

"Another planet? I, I guess I don't know what to think. I know in my dad's day, they were starting space flights, know the Kreeb are from off-world. Know the ISS, our space station, got knocked out, and then there were all those meteor disasters. Gimme some time..." Thoughts of Crandall, my digs, the stuff I had scraped together since Dad died, it all whirled around. Some of the things I'd been told coughed their way to the top of the stack.

Not precessing towardss former vector. Thiss tour is complete. Query further at mission posst. Off now – You are ssaved.

Moved off planet? Everything out of reach? Gone? I guess that was what Bob and the Kreeb on ship were telling me, but I'd not caught on, or just plain ignored it. My fault.

Query further at mission posst.

Somebody owed me answers. "When are those...lucid, liquid..."

"Elucidators?"

"Talking Kreeb," I corrected, "supposed to show up?"

"Probably when that pink dome thing gets finished up, best guess. We'll need someone like me to act as go-between then.

Look, once you get your digs set up, we have a sort of Ad hoc council going on. Trying to sort out who can best contribute what, our next best move, all that. There's a tent middle of camp with a flag on it. I'll come by tomorrow and introduce you around, OK?"

A chill ran up me. Not on Earth anymore? I looked down at the crate dumbly. This wasn't like the emergency package the Feds issued to survivors after meteors blew up half of Encino. It hit me that my life had been squeezed into a four foot square box. There was not going to be someplace else to relocate to. No city just over the horizon, under-powered or otherwise. No Supermarks to scavenge. I reevaluated my words with Bill on the ship. The slick bastard, he'd purposely skirted around direct mention of interplanetary relocation. The bush-beating, slippery old...Surprised myself, thought I was used to bad.

Pushing on to the free site George had pointed to, I emptied the care package out, and assembled the tent-like shelter. The routine was numbly automatic, having been through so many forced government relocations. I knew this mechanical activity just covered up my shock, set aside,however temporarily the need to think, but there you are. There was abed roll, self-inflating. A portable food warmer, some jumper-like clothes, a compass that seemed to always point toward the fast erecting administration dome. Other stuff. A condensing still, which gave me pause. No weaponry, as such, but a saw-toothed affair that would substitute for both knife and axe. I looked at the gear in depression, thinking about my Mossburg.

Evidently, this was going to be a farming thing, or we were expected to make our own hunting aids. Which got me thinking about Reems. It had been awhile since he trotted off.

My old rucksack had been stuffed into the container, so I pulled Crandall's veggies out, filled it with anything small or portable and slung it over my back. I didn't know anyone here yet, but I know human nature. The bushes Reems disappeared into were off to the right. Hopefully the cat still prowled around in there. Reems was usually not much of an explorer.

The point he had entered wasn't far. The dark green undergrowth pushed aside easily, and once beneath the treeline the scrub thinned out a lot. I scanned the wood, hoping to spot him. "Reems! Don't go too far, until we know the area. I can't come after you, or I'd get myself lost."

A brushing sounded to the left, and Reems appeared, some sort of rodent clamped by the neck. Looked like a cross between a mole and a mouse. He dropped the thing.

"Sorry. Couldn't talk mitt the mouth full. The old man, he speaks true. It gives gutt hunting here."

I scowled, not sure about taking old Bill's assurances on anything."There's no way to know what's edible; you might poison yourself. Wait till we can talk to the neighbors. We have supplies. Just wait."

"Ach, am fine. I can tell this. You vorry too much."

"All the same." I looked more diligently at the surroundings. A few game-like trails, or previously stomped down paths, wound on into the bracken. Motioning Reems to follow, I made back for the camp.

Thebugs fussing around the pink dome were carting their tools off. Either they were done, or packing it in for the day.

With nothing else worth doing, I returned to evaluating the campsite.George, who had been pumping my hand like a politician, mentioned a council. I couldn't pick out the tent he had gone on about, they all looked the same to me.

I decided to explore the tent city, mostly in the general direction he'd indicated. Someone could point it out when I got closer. Reems stayed at the new digs, curled up for one of his dozen daily naps. I stopped somewhere central and looked for a flagged tent. Nearby, a girl with short raven hair was bent down driving in a loose tent peg with a rock. I walked up behind her and put on my friendly face."Hey. What's up?"

She stopped thudding on the peg, and glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, just a little wind lift, yah? Put the stake back in at a better angle. That should do it." She turned back to tug at the peg a little. "What'd you want?"

"There's supposed to be a main tent around here. One with a flag on it? You know where it is? Oh, I'm Tomas, by the way." She dropped the rock and stood dusting her hands off, giving me a once over.

"New here, yah? It's next row up. More a rag than flag, really. About five tents to the left."

She had pretty brown eyes, looked to be a bit younger than me, with the spare ropy body of a girl used to hacking it outdoors and missing a few meals. This only made her classic facial lines stand out like an electric billboard though. She surveyed me with a kind of calculating look that made me a little uncomfortable. I wasn't used to being sized up by pretty women.

"Yeah just in. Some guy named George said I should check in at the central tent."

Her look darkened a little. "Oh. George, Yah...He try to recruit you for his campaign?"

"Um, no. Well, maybe. Just said someone could answer a few questions for me there. Campaign?"

She rubbed the back of her neck, and shrugged. "It's not important. I'm not a fan of George's, yah? I'm Lisa Cappello. You part of an incoming group?"

"Oh, no. At least, I don't think so. I was a snatch and grab, off the streets in Frisco. Well, there's my cat, too." I offered my hand, which she took lightly and only briefly, levering herself from the ground without any dependence on my grip. She relaxed a bit, looked maybe a little sympathetic.

"I'll walk you over. They probably won't be able to tell you much, but it's not a bad idea, yah?" She pointed a way out between tents and I followed along.

Making conversation, I asked, "You on your own here?" This netted a sharp look.

"Why?"

"No reason, just asking."

"Oh,I know people here. We watch out for each other, but I've my own tent, yah? If that's what you mean."

I felt a little ticked, like I was being accused of something. It must have showed on my face.

She softened a little, and said, "Sorry, okay? Didn't mean to be short with you, just clear. It's not midtown Philly around here."

"It's fine, I get that. So you're from Philadelphia? Maybe we know some of the same people. I've some friends from there."

She laughed. "Yah, now you're just trying to make time with me. Be careful, Tomas. Anyway here we are."

A little flustered, I just nodded and looked where she indicated. "Thanks."

"So where did you set up?"

"Huh? Oh, my campsite. I'm over near the dome, close to where the, the ship landed. A place George showed me."

Her eyes hardened a bit. "George again. You don't have to do anything George tells you, you know?. There's open sites all over. Suit yourself. So, you're a cat owner?"

"More a fellow traveler. He's not that kind of cat. We get along alright. Reems is a Rottengal, a gene-jacked mutation. A talker."

"I've heard of that stuff. Eastern Europe Crisper mutation, right?" She reached back to tousle her hair, thinking. "Read an article that said they have trouble with English 'cause of their mouth. The imports got taught by bad German tutors on purpose because their pronunciations were easier for cat lips, or something."

"Yeah, dunno. They weren't bred in the states, anyway. I really never stuck my head into the subject much. Almost everybody seems to know more about them than I do. Good to have around in a fight though. Nothing like getting four sets of sharp, two inch claws in the face. He's good company, and saved my bacon more than a few times. He talks well enough."

"Sounds...fierce."

I couldn't quite tell if she liked me, was just talkative, or just wanted to know where trouble might come from, but she obviously hated George. Spellbound by her looks, I decided not to bring the guy up again.

"Well anyway," she ended, "here you are. See ya around camp."

The indicated tent's flap was partially open, so I made a few hellos andat an answering grunt, just slipped in. Parked on camp-stools, a strong-jawed elderly guy and a middle-aged brunette looked up from behind some shoved-together crates serving for a desk. The guy looked me up and down, while the woman smiled and spoke up. "New arrival?"

"That's me. Freshly kidnapped off the streets of Frisco. So what's going on here?"

"Well, we are still trying to figure that out – you do know this is not Earth, right? New arrivals usually figure that much out right off...mostly. The Kreeb representative isn't here yet, maybe tomorrow, so don't ask."

"Yup, I heard a little about that. Anyway, it's not the first time I've been pressed into a relocation. Off world though?" I shook my head, still only half believing it, putting down my current composure to some kind of shock. "What's the place like, so far? Does it have a name?"

She waved generally toward the surrounding treeline. "So far? We've only scouted maybe two miles into the forest, looking for resources, so don't know much yet. None of us have been here very long. Don't know if it has a formal name. Probably is one in a star catalog someplace, If we knew where here was. You may have guessed some of this from the state of things. Still not sure what the Kreeb actually have in mind to do with us, if anything."

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose, like he missed his glasses, or something, and broke in. "Not that it matters. It's almost guaranteed they'll leave and strand us here eventually. Can't depend on 'em. We'll need to make do on our own. Can't stay in tents forever. I take it you've met our Mr. Getty. George makes it his business to corner every new –"

The brunette palmed a hand near her ear, like warding off a bug. "Henry! Be nice. The boy just got shuttled here. At least introduce..."

Henry clamped his jaw and nodded. "Sorry, I'm Henry Donovan, this is Christa Bogen. Take it for granted we're not very good at this. Been on shift in this tent for the last four hours. Goin' a little stir crazy. You are?"

"Tomas Monroe."

"Welcome to the great beyond, Tomas. Like I was saying, George probably told you where he thinks we are, or at least, where we aren't. The guy pumps everybody, wants to take charge of the inevitable town-hall meeting with the Bugs. Self-appointed welcome wagon, he is."

"Henry, be nice."

"Alright, Christa. Eventually I suppose we will have to develop some sort of directing body. Just when that will be is still up in the air, until after we talk to the Kreeb, no matter what George blabbed about."

So far I hadn't heard anything helpful, but nodded admitting, "Have a few questions for the bugs myself."

"Sure," continued Henry briskly, "Well. Meantime, the latrines are set to the north and south edge, according to the compasses they handed out. Men's to the north, woman's to the south. Can't miss 'em. They're bigger, and set off by themselves." At this, he glanced toward Crista.

Christa handed me a piece of note paper. "These are the two doctors in camp. We don't have a map yet, so if you need a medic, best to just ask after them."

I shoved the paper into my jeans without a glance. "Can I assume we are free to wander at will, or would I get netted again by the Kreeb?"

Christa blinked, taken back a little. "Do as you like, so far."

"So, lost in space to wander free, eh?"

Some of the mental numbness of transition was leaving me. I wondered if the Kreeb's capture nets had some part in my mental acquiescence. Some sort of tranquilizing effect. Whatever, it was quickly wearing off, if so.

Henry stuffed one age-spotted hand into his belt, and guffawed. "Oh, not entirely. We've got some things organized. There's a tag-team rotation for latrine duty. Bit of a chore, since you'll have to ask around to find the next guy on the list, until you know where people are. We'll add your name to it. It won't come round to you for a good while though, being new as you are, but expect to get tapped. The list is longer than it used to be."

Henry pointed a stubby finger at me. "Burn or bury your own trash. Don't leave it laying around, either. Don't know exactly what kind of animals it might attract, okay?"

Christa frowned a little, adding, "That's all we can tell you, except you ought to set up your condensing still right away. Oh, and the next general camp meeting is four days off. There's a creek just west of here, but I don't advise drinking from it, use your still."

Henry smirked. "If what's in the creek is water. Safe to scrub down in it, though. That's about all we can say, for now. This tent's about as much civil service as we've got, so far. So something crops up as seems important, bring it here. Haven't been around long enough to gab about the weather, so anything new qualifies as important."

I thanked the pair, and left. Behind me, I heard Henry note, "Well, at least that one didn't fall apart at the seams, whimpering and demanding to go home."

I wandered the camp some more, clearing my head and spotted the latrines Henry spoke of. They were tall, boxy looking structures, and looked more homemade, compared to the fairly standard camp tents. Deep trenches ran out and rearward from them.

Camps and such were not a new experience. Common stuff while the the last scraps of government began to fade out, taking most organized efforts with them. After the collapse, without the incentive of dependable delivery of meds and rations, a lot of them fell apart, some people, like me, gravitating back to the shells of cities, falling brick and all, or hiking off to corporate farm areas where food and materials could be scavenged or grown in makeshift greenhouses. The tent town could have been one of the disaster camps. Like everyone else, I'd seen my share of these. Old emergency issue Camel-colored dome tents, spaced to allow avenues of travel, comprised it. A few custom jobs brought by the prepared showed here and there. Some of the more industrious even scraped out fire-pits. A pervasive scent of wood-smoke, kids thrilled to be running around unsupervised, the usual. The place was not really organized, but set up like people do, when used to dealing with relocation camps.

The light slowly faded. Sort of spooky. The long stretch of sunshine made me nervous, pressed on me. A small body shock occurred every half hour or so, when the expected dark-cycle failed to show up. I returned to my digs exhausted before actual night fell. Finding out anything else would just have to wait until tomorrow.