Some Fine Day (11 page)

“There used to be lots of actuaries,” I explain. “Especially when things started falling apart. Corporations, governments, everyone wanted to understand what this whole cascade of natural disasters would mean for them. What they would cost, in money and lives. The probabilities of different scenarios occurring. The past was no longer any guide to the future, and people were panicking. Charlie’s old enough to remember.”

“So you think I’m serious?”

I shrug. “It’s your job, right?”

Will stops in front of my tent flap. His face is closed again, like a window has slammed shut. “It’s not just my job. This is how we live. I don’t know what you expected, but you’re right about one thing. People die all the time here. They die of rotten teeth. They die in childbirth. They die from bites and stings and burns and a million other things I can’t fix. I can’t fix them because I don’t have proper medical supplies. Because we have nothing except the trash you guys leave behind. So, yeah. I guess I’m a serious person.”

He stomps off and I remind myself that one boiled egg and a shot of penicillin does not make someone a friend. In fact, these people
attacked
my friends. Maybe even Will and Charlie. Who knows what’s they’ve done to survive? I just have to wait. And I won’t let myself get too close to any of them. Not when I know what will happen when the extraction teams arrive.

My people are not gentle with those who wrong us. We will kill fifty of you for every one of ours. And the search will not stop until I am found, one way or another.

It’s getting dark. I lie down on my side and listen to the rain. The downpour has eased to a gentle patter, dripping from the trees and magnifying the earthy forest smells. I watch a bug make its way across the underside of the tarp. It has a tiny orange body and eight long, jointed legs as fine as eyelashes. There’s a lot of weird insects up here I’ve never seen before. At home, we have streets and buildings and little oases of carefully manicured parks under grow lights and the rest is rock. Just miles and miles of rock. It comes in different colors and textures, but it’s still rock and it’s still reliably dead. Up here, every square inch seems alive with
something
.

I touch a green shoot poking out of the ground near the leg of my cot and it suddenly strikes me that this place was inhabited once. Not one of the megacities, with the buildings so tall their tops pierced the clouds, because there would still be ruins. Even the canes couldn’t sweep all that away, not in a few decades. But people lived here, I’m sure of it. The eastern coast of the United States of America was very densely populated before the ocean reclaimed it. I scan the grass and the trees, looking for something, I don’t know what, some sign, but there is nothing. What came before has been erased as perfectly and inexorably as a footprint below the tide line.

Early the next morning, Rupert comes to summon me to Banerjee. He seems to feel bad about what happened on the ship, or maybe he’s just scared of me now, but he smiles when he gives me my porridge, displaying a row of mossy stumps. I guess Will wasn’t kidding about the dental care around here.

I decide that I feel reasonably OK about going outside. For one thing, I actually slept through the night for the first time since I got here. No nightmares about flaming men drowning in the surf or, far worse, the vague, paralyzing sense of dread I haven’t experienced since my early days at the Academy. My mind is clear and thanks to Charlie, I no longer feel helpless. I know what to look for.

The captain’s tent is set off in its own clearing near the beach. It’s bigger than mine, but not by much.

“How’s your recovery coming along, Nordqvist?” Banerjee says. She’s wearing a leather vest and her arms are ropy with muscle. I wouldn’t want to fight this woman, even if she is twice my age.

“Fine, thank you.”

“You spoke with Charlie?”

“He set me straight, ma’am.”

“Did he? Well, I’m glad. Because we need to commence the training immediately.”

My heart lifts a little. “Are you expecting an attack?” I say, trying not to sound hopeful.

“I’m always expecting an attack. Do you think we’re the only group in these parts?” The captain somehow found a swivel chair, the kind they have in offices, and she sits in it like a throne. “Not all are a problem. In fact, most are trade partners. But there’s a few that would be perfectly happy to gut every last one of us and take our ships and supplies. It’s my job to prevent that from happening.”

“How big will my classes be?” I’ve never taught before and the idea makes me nervous, even though I know the material inside and out.

She smiles. “I can’t force anybody to do anything they don’t want to. That’s not how we operate. I’ll put the word out and it’s up to you to do the rest. But I expect you to recruit and train a core group that can help protect this camp.” She holds up a finger. “In addition, you will get on the work roster. We’re restocking the fleet, food and water. The sooner that’s finished, the sooner we can be underway. I have no desire to linger here.” She stares at me like she sees what a liar I am, even though she couldn’t possibly know who my parents really are. “You can go now.”

Will and Lisa come later to take my stitches out. He’s polite to a fault. I’m rude. Lisa keeps looking askance at us, trying to figure out what’s going on. I spend the rest of the day lying on my cot pretending I’m in the flight simulator at the Academy. It’s always been my favorite escape. The program lets you pilot anything from Harrier jump-jets to the space shuttle, which always depressed me because it represents everything we lost. I guess the Mars 2020 Rover and Venera-D, the probe that the Russians sent to Venus, and all the others going back to Cassini–Huygens and even earlier are still out there somewhere. There’s just no one to answer their signals anymore.

Early the next morning, I head down to the beach to check the sky. It’s clear, with a light westerly breeze. I time the swells. They’re slow and steady, about three feet and ten seconds apart.

No hypercanes. Not today.

I let the water lap at my toes. The sun feels pleasantly warm, not searing like it gets later in the day. The captain’s posted a lookout on one of the rock outcroppings along the shore. They wave. I wave back. If any of the mercenary types she told me about tries to sneak up on the island, at least we’ll have some warning.

My stomach’s churning a little as I walk back up the path to the clearing. I’m scared, both that no one will show up, or that they will. Beating Bob bought me a chance to prove my value. If I fail, Banerjee’s made it clear that there won’t be any more chances.

The camp is still waking up and only a few people are visible, hauling water or cooking breakfast over open fires. I scope out an open area away from the other tents that’s reasonably level and free of rocks. Then I sit beneath a hardwood tree with big, gnarly roots. The air smells of wood smoke and wet leaves. It’s already hot, even though the sun hasn’t cleared the treetops.

Boy, do I miss coffee.

After a while, three girls about my age come over.

“Is this where we learn how to fight?” asks the boldest one. She’s skinny, like everyone, with mahogany skin and big, round eyes. Her black hair is knotted into a long braid, perhaps in imitation of the captain. The other two are tall and fair and look like sisters.

“This is it,” I say, standing up. “I’m Jansin.”

“I know,” she says. “I’m Nileen, and this is Ezzie and Matty.”

We nod at each other. They don’t seem very enthusiastic, and I get the feeling Nileen roped them into coming here.

I glance down at my wrist, but of course the band isn’t there. At the Academy, every minute of every day is accounted for, down to the second. I still find it disorienting not to know the time.

“Let’s just give it a few more. . .” I begin.

Nileen interrupts. “No one else is coming,” she says flatly. “They’re scared you’ll embarrass them, or they claim they won’t hit a girl, or they don’t like that you’re a pika.” She says the word without malice, just a fact.

“OK,” I say. “Let’s give it a few more minutes anyway.”

I start the girls on a grueling routine of sit-ups, push-ups and jumping jacks. A few people watch us out of the corners of their eyes, but Nileen’s right, none of them come over. Eventually, the camp empties as everyone heads for their assigned jobs.

After about fifteen minutes, I survey my students.

They’re lying on their backs, completely winded. Perfect. The point is to exhaust them before we even start. Muscle memory happens ten times quicker when you’re tired and operating under duress.

“On your feet,” I say firmly.

They groan and stand up, Ezzie bent over and leaning with her hands on her knees. Then Nileen’s eyes fix on something behind me. I turn and find myself staring at Bob’s chest. So I tilt my head back until I catch his watery blue eyes. The left is still badly bloodshot.

“Hey, Bob,” I say.

“Hey,” he rumbles.

“Is there a problem?” I say, sliding my right foot back a couple inches and tensing to duck.

He looks confused. “No, man. I just thought. . . can I sign up?”

I blink. “You want to take my class?”

“If you don’t mind. I understand if you don’t want to.” He shuffles his feet and turns pink. “Ah, it’s OK. I just thought you could teach me to get a little faster on my feet, you know?”

It hits me then that in the same way I’ve always hated being small, Bob’s size is not something he relishes.
Ox. Giant. Behemoth. Clumsy and slow
. But I’ve known men nearly as big as him who moved like lightning, and landed feather-light on their toes after kicking higher than ought to be humanly possible. It just takes practice.

“I can teach you that,” I say, and he smiles. “In fact, your timing is exquisite. OK, guys, want to see something cool?”

They all nod.

“I’m going to show you how to break a bear hug.” I turn to Bob. “Go ahead. Grab me as hard as you can.”

He squares his massive shoulders, steps forward and lifts me up off the ground, crushing my face against his chest. I love this move because it doesn’t matter how big and strong your opponent is. Unless you’ve been trained, it always comes as a horrible surprise. It only works if you're facing the person though. Otherwise he never would have overpowered me on the beach and I wouldn't be standing here right now.

My arms are pinned to my sides, but my hands are loose. So I just reach around, grab the flesh on his back just above his hips, and twist as hard as I can. Bob shrieks and drops me like a burning coal.

“What the hell was that?” he bellows.

“It doesn’t really have a name,” I say. “But it works.”

The girls are laughing behind their hands, so I decide I’d better even the scales before Bob feels picked on. I demo some chokeholds on Ezzie, which sobers everyone up in a hurry. Then we review basic fighting stance, left foot forward and knees slightly bent, weight mostly on the balls of the feet. Eyes straight ahead, chin tucked. They’re swaying by the time we get to punching and kicking drills, so I bark at them until it’s obvious no one has any juice left.

It feels so good to be moving again, to be training. I tried to channel Sergeant Jackson, my first drill instructor, and I don’t think I did too badly. After class, I turn to go back to my tent but Nileen stops me.

“Come eat with us,” she says, adding, “Captain’s orders,” when I hesitate.

“OK.” I’m a little tired of sitting alone on my cot anyway.

“You ever cast a net?” Nileen asks as we fill two bowls with vegetable stew and find seats in the shade. About a dozen people have gathered in the clearing for the noon meal. A couple of them stare at us, but Nileen ignores them and they finally turn away.

“No,” I say.

“I’ll show you then. Work sched says you’re on net duty all week. Me too.” She shrugs. “There’s worse jobs, for sure.”

“Like what?” The stew’s not half bad. I swallow the last spoonful and look wistfully at the pot, but nobody seems to be going back for seconds.

“Like hauling water. Makes your arms near to fall off after a few hours. The closest spring’s a good two miles inland, but it’s too rocky to camp there. Got to fill five hundred barrels before we go. Enough to last a few weeks at sea.”

“The captain said something about making me do that,” I say, thinking about the freshly healed wound on my back.

Nileen laughs. “She was prob’ly just threatening. They put the really big guys on barrel duty. Like Bob.”

We both look across the clearing. Bob’s sitting alone on a log, eating methodically with his head down. I haven’t been here very long, but I know a pariah when I see one. Mainly because I was one myself at the Academy. Rich girl, daddy’s a general, barely tall enough to pass the entrance physical. Three strikes. Everyone assumed I’d gotten some kind of free lunch, so I had work twice as hard as the rest of them just to prove I’d earned it. I always hoped it might make them stop hating me but it made them hate me more.

“Let’s go.” Nileen stands up and brushes off her hands. “It’s gonna be hot down there but at least we’ll be standing in the water.”

“One second.” I walk over to Bob. His small eyes squint up at me suspiciously.

“You did alright today,” I say. “See you tomorrow, same time?”

Bob nods slowly. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.” He looks down and starts spooning stew into his mouth again. I guess the conversation’s over.

“Well, ain’t you nice,” Nileen murmurs as we walk down the path to the beach.

“Don’t get used to it,” I say.

“Most people’s scared of him. He’s a loner, you know.”

“Maybe not by choice,” I say.

“It ain’t just that he’s big,” Nileen says as we reach the shore. The sun has burnished the ocean to a bright, metallic sheen. “It’s who he used to be.”

We walk down a ways to a row of buckets. Nileen grabs one and carries it to the waterline.

“You can get your own tomorrow. Today, we’ll work together. A good cast takes practice,” she says. “Now, see these weights? That’s called the lead line.” She pulls a fine mesh net out of the bucket and carefully shakes it out. It’s about eight feet across, with lead sinkers around the perimeter. “You got your loop.” She snaps a thick black band around her wrist. “That keeps the net from getting away from you. Don’t forget it. This here’s your drawstring and Braille lines. They’ll pull the net tight when it’s full and you’re ready to haul it in.”