The Forum is Plymouth's low-tech solution to colony Morale problems. The Forum is simply a theater/auditorium. Commonly configured as a theater in the round, it can also be easily converted into several different seating configurations, and into a gymnasium for "cooperative, non-competitive, sporting-challenges."

The Forum serves as a social gathering place, a town square, a cultural hub, and a community center for Plymouth. Colonists can be found gathered there any hour of the day or night, in small informal groups, or for larger and more organized activities. On any given day, at least one major event is planned, be it a play, a debate, a musical performance, a dance, or a spirited poetry reading (a Plymouth favorite).

Operational Notes: The Forum improves Morale. It is designed to serve up to 75 Colonists. NOTE: This structure is available only to Plymouth.

Tales from New Terra

Emma sat in the rickshaw, and despite Councilor Kozu's extended hand, had no inclination to get out. She looked up at him pleadingly. "Couldn't I just go dive into a magma vent? Attempt to stomp out the Blight with my bare feet? Maybe go clean the GORF with my tongue?"

Kozu tilted his head disapprovingly. "Now, Elder, you promised. You even agreed that it's important in these difficult times for well-known leaders such as ourselves to appear at public functions, to participate in the culture of the colony."

She help up an index finger. "I know, I'll volunteer as a practice target for the StickyFoam tanks!"

"Elder ..."

"You only said we'd be going to the Forum. I thought perhaps we'd hear a chorus, some chamber music, a little classic acid-rock. You didn't tell me it was poetry night!"

"Would you have come if I had?"

"Of course not."

"My point exactly. Come on."

The Forum was packed. Plymouth residents loved their poetry, and they tried to compensate for any lack of quality through increased quantity. Perhaps to them it was wonderful, but to Emma's ear, trained in another time, another place, another culture, it was sheer torture.

A round-headed man with long yellow hair and a neatly trimmed goatee walked up to the podium and was greeted with enthusiastic applause. He placed a large stack of paper on the podium, cleared his throat, and began. "Ode to the Blight." He cleared his throat once more and began to read. "Oh, Blight, oh wicked unseen bug of naughty intent, I spend the hours obsessed with your nature, and dread the caress of your unhealthy touch. My inner eye can see you, invisible friend, on these long nights of woe ..."

Emma sank into her seat and hung her head back, staring blankly at the huge light platform over the stage. "Long nights of woe, indeed. Maker help us, it begins."

"... are you tinier than my empty thoughts? Nay! You are huge! You are legion! It is we who are small ..."

Then the vortex alarm sounded even at the building began to shake. The audience was immediately on its feet, calmly but quickly heading for the exits.

The building shook hard, and Emma could hear a sound like a GORF trying to digest a too-large hunk of rubble, and the lights suspended from the ceiling began to sway. Emma could see the would-be poet running for an exit, his poetry still stacked on the podium.

Then the whole building shook, hard enough that a few sensitive people actually screamed. She paused and looked back at the stage. There was a snap, followed quickly by three more, and the light platform broke loose from the ceiling, fell flatly, and swatted the podium like a great hand.

She turned back toward the exit and smiled. "There is a Maker."

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