As many times as I'd been called upon to banish Volatile people to Earth, few of them had ever attacked me.
The final time it happened was within the New Lancaster Habitat, home to 10,000 New Order Mennonites, known as the "Habitat of the Gentle People." Moments after I arrived at the farm of Bishop Anna Troyer and her son, Samuel, I knew it contained at least one exception.
As I stepped onto the porch, I couldn't help thinking that the Troyer home looked like something out of history: wooden structure, metal gutters, the porch sporting a swing and rocking chairs. An even more primitive-looking building, the barn, stood in the rear. Between them was an electric car, and a larger vehicle that probably harvested the crops. In fields both adjacent to the Troyer home and directly overhead, I could see people working in the sprawling fields scattered throughout the habitat.
The heat and humidity of the habitat's interior washed over me. It was only mid-morning and already conditions here were oppressive; why would people work in those fields all day? I wished I could've come about a week later when the habitat was due to turn colder. It was a practical measure; the apple, cherry, and pear trees needed that cold snap to blossom.
I knocked on the flimsy-looking door, which was a thin frame of wood surrounding a fine metal mesh. Out of the shadows within the house, two figures resolved themselves. Bishop Troyer was dressed in a gray one-piece dress beneath an apron of the same color, and wore her snow-white hair up, topped with a finely pleated white hat. I knew she was only middle-aged, about sixty, but her deeply lined face made her look decades older. Being a Mennonite, I thought, must be a rough life. I knew it could even be deadly. Bishop Troyer's husband Amos had died eight years earlier when a grain harvester rolled over on him--not an uncommon fate for farmers here, apparently.
Samuel was twenty, broad-shouldered, and with skin burnished by countless hours beneath reflected sunlight. He was wearing a farmer's overalls and thick-soled boots.
Bishop Troyer didn't speak, just glared at me, but she still opened the door--Congregationalist courtesy, no doubt. I stepped inside, grateful for the respite from the heat. "I'm Triage Officer Leo Bakri. I'm here to carry out the Order of Banishment on Samuel Troyer."
The only thing that saved me was that although Samuel was big, he wasn't a trained fighter, and that my New Human reflexes are faster than those of most Volatiles. His right fist swung at my face, and I grabbed it with my right hand and twisted sharply, measuring my force so I wouldn't break his wrist. Samuel yelped and sank to one knee. I placed my hand on the butt of my stunner but didn't draw it.
Bishop Troyer went to her son's side and held his shoulders. I wondered if she was trying to comfort or restrain her son.
I felt the chill of perspiration drying on my forehead. The house wasn't climate-controlled, but it was cooler than the habitat's current outdoor setting. Too much like a "natural" environment, too uncontrolled, I thought. Why should any environment be uncomfortable for the Humans living in it?
)
