By Orson Scott Card
The town of Basilica has fallen. Now Wetchik, Nafai, and all their kinfolk needs to courageous the wilderness wastes, and move the broad continents to the place Harmony's hidden spaceport lies silent, deserted, awaiting the command to make the good interstellar ships prepared for flight again.
But of those 16 humans, just a couple of have selected their exile. The others, Rasa's spiteful daughters and their husbands; Wetchik's oldest son, Elemak, were pressured opposed to their will. Their anger and hatreds will make the tough trip more durable.
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Extra info for The Ships of Earth (Homecoming Saga, Book 3)
Varnett ducked and rolled, but was unhurt. Skander cursed himself, then decided to set it down. He still had the knife, and that might just be enough. He took the flare pistol which, while it wouldn't necessarily penetrate the suit, might cause a blinding distraction. He was not a large man, but he was a head taller than the boy and the odds were otherwise even in his mind. Landing near Varnett's flyer, he got out quickly, flare gun in his right hand, knife in his left. Cursing the almost total absence of light and the fact that he had had to take his eyes off Varnett to land, Skander looked cautiously around.
Quickly his hands reached for the little pocket in which he kept his filter. Yes, it was still there. How was this possible? Varnett was doing computations, checking against a display on a second screen that hooked him to the math sections of the lab computer. Skander stood there totally still and silent. He heard Yarnett mumble an assent to himself, as if some problem he had been running through the computer had checked out correct. Skander stole a glance at his chronometer. Nine hours! It had been nine hours!
But it costs—unless one is influential with the Council," Hain noted. "True," Brazil acknowledged, talking as he chewed his synthetic meat. "But we're well paid, in port only a few days every few weeks, and most of us just put our salaries into escrow to pay for what we need. " Vardia broke in. "It's so very, very old! " Brazil shrugged. "Not very unusual. " "Yes, that's true," Hain said. C. " Brazil shrugged again. "I truthfully don't know. As old as the records, anyway. The brain has a finite capacity, so every rejuve erases a little more of the past.
The Ships of Earth (Homecoming Saga, Book 3) by Orson Scott Card