The small towns and family-owned farms had become indispensable to the rebuilding of America after the Collapse. In the United States the nuclear devastation of those horrifying years had been severe. Most major cities had been destroyed, but much of the outlying and rural areas had survived. In the latter half of the 21st century new leadership arose from these areas, and the American spirit, which for a hundred years had gradually been eclipsed by special-interest groups, lobbyists, fringe organizations, and major corrupt economic interests, was largely purified. The “old values” became popular again, if not always followed. A generation of leaders arose with an appeal similar to that enjoyed by the “log cabin” presidents. A candidate who claimed to have basic values and homespun philosophy was guaranteed to win support from the remaining American population. With his eyes still closed, David smiled. He tried to imagine the aroma of his Aunt Clare’s freshly-ground coffee coming from the kitchen, mingled with the smell of hot-off-the-griddle blueberry pancakes. The drizzle was stopping, and the dawnlight of the newly-risen sun was sending sparkles through the light rainy haze that shrouded the fields and crowning the eastern fields with the arc of a rainbow. The haze would soon burn off, leaving the dark earth sodden and leaves dripping. He smiled even wider. He could hear his aunt’s voice now... “Come and get it, Starmen!” pealed the voice of George St. George. “Got some more of that engine-oil coffee steaming away, and I managed to whip together some biscuits from some powdered stuff I found!” Zip’s eyes shot open and took in the neutral walls of the cubicle where he, Mark, and Joe had slept. The faint hum of O344’s system was drowned out now with the rustle of human movement as the asteroid miners gathered around the table. “There’s some sort of orangy liquid I mixed up from some other powder, too! Probably has some good vitamins in it!” In minutes the Starmen and miners were tucking in to the best that George St. George could do with the supplies at hand. After breakfast, the Starmen sat in the lounge. Mark was poring over the printout that he had taken from the power plant on the pirates’ asteroid. He had a digital copy of much of the layout of the asteroid, and information on the power plants, propulsion structures, and sheathing equipment. The papers were filled with charts, maps, and diagrams; a few sections were written in an unintelligible, alien language. He couldn’t even tell which symbols were letters and which were numbers. “I hope they didn’t use a pictorial alphabet like Chinese,” said Joe, looking over Mark’s shoulder.