Of course, the ship was affected as were the buoys and her Work Horse. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? Now, there was no ship, no way home. How or why seemed meaningless now. This was it. Hanging there in space with debris floating around her, Evie sucked in breath after breath, each one feeling harder to draw in. It was as if she were too fat for her unit or it too small for her. Her workhorse harness constricted her breathing, pulling tight across her chest.
‘Warning, warning…’ her message began to repeat in her ear.
‘No, this is crazy.’ How did her message repeat when the ship was gone? Had everything she’d been through made her hear things? Her message mustn’t have cleared the buffer.
Her unit tightened further, another worry for her. She felt the implants delving, like ice fingers digging, pinching, groping. Panic took over. Her scream of fear drowned out her message. Either her machine was breaking down irretrievably, and she had only moments to live or the machine was taking over—no merging with her. God no!
‘Warning, warning…’ her message looped again. Her throat was hoarse, but she no longer cared to scream. There was no point. Her unit began to speed up, rocketing through the Tolstoy Patches, blaring her warning. She had no control and the ice claws in her skin penetrated painfully.
Evie felt her mind drift and cool and slow. She thought of Sam out there, his essence part of a new star. Right then, she didn’t know where the workhorse stopped and where she began. Her ears were filled with the sound of her message. She started to feel drowsy, felt the now warming metal slide into her veins through the implant. ‘Warning buoy,’ she whispered, the irony not lost on her. Her eyes were closing…but there was another Work Horse drifting into her vision. It was moving.
‘Sam?’ Her mind struggled to stem the creep of metal. Hallucinating, she thought vaguely. Then she heard it. Sam’s voice repeating her message. Sam’s rig floated in close. It was his body, but not him. The metal of his rig, webbed over him, like veins. ‘Warning, warning…’
At first, her reaction was horror and fear. She’d end up like that. Sam drifted closer. His eyes weren’t dead. Some power glinted there between the webs of metal. The machine oozed liquid metal like a tail. Yet there was Sam, animate. Had he known? Had he led the way for her to follow? Was this the ‘adapt’ he was thinking of when she spoke to him last? Was there hope and not despair in his thinking.?
Oh Sam! Dare I believe? Is this where we end and begin again?
Her eyes closed as the last of the metal slid into her veins, becoming as blood. She was conscious but altered. Alive but no longer breathing. Neither death nor evolution did she fear. The silence of the stars still soothed her. Sam was there and he was ready to adapt along with her. Eyes glowing in the darkness around her. The message she’d sent kept on blaring.
Warning, warning, buoy. Warning, warning buoy.
Author Note
This story came from a number of places. I was doing an audit of the management of the Australian navigation aid network and through that I learned that warning buoys, lighthouse etc are usually put there after disasters. So immediately I start thinking about outer space and what if there was an accident etc. Then, also the lighthouse keepers had all been outsourced and replaced with automated beacons or contractors and that made me a little sad. I think being a light house keeper would be a kind of calling. About the same time I was doing some reading about nebulas, particularly nebulas that are growing as they feed off another one, possibly a dying star. And then it just gets a bit weird.
Lake Absence
Miles locked his cattle in the stockyard every evening. He counted them to make sure none could roam. Four calves, eight cows and one old bull huddled together safe behind the sturdy fence. Turning, he gazed across the barren, wind-swept basin of land over to his small farm house—a crumbling old house, built by his father.
The pale sun set and the brown night encroached. Miles hurried to complete his chores. At the well, he pumped out thick muddy water and washed his hands. The aroma of the evening meal wafted on the dry, dusty air, teasing a restless groan from his gut. Closing the door on the lengthening shadows, he kissed his wife, Belle, on the cheek and asked her how her day was.
As she spooned out the turnip and barley stew, she told him about the grinding of grain, the baking of bread and the dryness of the well.
‘Surely it won’t be long,’ he said. ‘We’ll have water again soon.’
‘I hope so,’ she said, ‘Otherwise we’ll have to drink the cows’ milk.’
Miles laughed. ‘And what will the cows drink?’
Catching his eye, Belle laughed too. Yet underneath it all Miles tasted the worry, the despair, the constant wondering what if.
The next morning Belle was up before him, leaving a cold hollow in the bed. The sun had not yet risen. He heard her there, stoking the fire so she could bake bread. Miles lay there with sheets tucked up to his chin while he mentally prepared himself for the day ahead. Then he felt it. The dry air moistened within the space of a breath and a soft, cool breeze tickled his exposed skin.
The clink and clang of Belle stoking the fire ceased. ‘Is that?’ she asked in a whisper from the kitchen.
Miles threw back the covers, surged to the window and flung open the shutter. It was still dark outside—he smelt the dampness in the air and heard the soft lap of gentle waves.
‘I think so.’
Belle came up beside him. ‘I wonder why there was such a long gap this time. There doesn’t seem to be any way of predicting it. Would be so much easier if we could.’
Miles fingers scraped against the bristles on his chin. His shave would have to wait. Events now dictated his chores for the next few days.
As the sun rose, he and Belle stood on the shore of the lake. Yesterday it had been barren plain, pockmarked with grassy nodules, now it was full to the brim with pale brown water. Assorted bits of flotsam were visible bobbing on the surface.
‘I’ll go East and start foraging,’ suggested Belle. ‘I can pop back and keep an eye on the bread.’
Miles nodded, scanning the large lake. ‘I’ll check the well and fill the dams and then start on the West side.’ He moved off and then paused. ‘Must let the cows out first and milk them.’ He headed off, knowing he would not see her again until well after sunset. If he was lucky he’d catch a glimpse of her in the kitchen when he brought in the milk and set it to cure.
Some hours later, essential chores done, Miles grabbed some rope and headed along the shore. In places, he noticed that the lake exceeded its usual boundaries. Picking up branches, and odd cartons, he stacked them in piles on the dry embankment. He continued to walk around the water’s edge, eyes carelessly drifting to the short choppy waves that so fascinated him.
He caught sight of a brown thing floating a few feet from shore. With a frown, he waded out to see what it was. The closer he got the more afraid he became. It was Kaylen’s best cow, drowned. Miles cast his gaze around looking for his burly neighbour. Perhaps his own foraging had not taken him this far around the lake yet.
Kaylen did not count his cows when he shut them up for the night. Without Kaylen to witness how he found the cow, Miles was nervous about touching it. Usually cantankerous, Kaylen had bordered on irrational since his wife died the previous year. Yet looking at the cow, he knew the longer it stayed in the water, the greater chance of losing the meat to spoilage.
Miles tied a rope to the cow’s head and towed the bloated carcass closer to shore. Puffing with exertion, he took off his hat and wiped his brow and then stilled. A shadow fell across him. ‘What are you doin’ with my cow?’
Kaylen circled him, his harsh brows drawn over deep-set eyes. Miles stepped back. ‘Saw it out there, drowned. Thought I’d bring it ashore before the meat spoiled, and then I was going to come over and let you know.’
Kaylen was nodding. ‘You killed my cow.’
‘No. I was walking along looking for firewood and saw
it there.’
‘So you be saying. I say you killed my cow. What you going to do about it?’
Miles swallowed. ‘It drowned. Nothing anyone can do about that.’
‘Replace it.’ Kaylen’s fists clenched and he leaned in too close.
Miles backed up. ‘I can let my bull service your other cow.’
‘Definitely. We’ll see about the rest. Wait here and I’ll get the cart.’
Miles wanted to get on with his chores but he couldn’t up and leave that would make matters with his neighbour worse. No point in making bad blood when there were only two families living by the lake now.
When Kaylen was out of sight, he explored lakeshore, picking up twigs and branches and floating bottles and stacking them in neat piles on the shore.
Soon, he heard the rusty grind of Kaylen’s cart and his neighbour came into view.
Together they dragged the carcass onto the bed of the cart. Miles helped push the cart back to his neighbour’s house and tried to leave. He had much to do to secure the flotsam before the lake disappeared again.
‘Help me hang it in the shed,’ Kaylen said, using straps to secure the beast to his back. With a sigh, Miles helped to lift it, groaning under the weight of the beast and they got it under cover.
Miles wiped sweaty hands on his trousers. ‘I really should be going now. Got to get back to my chores.’
‘Fine, you lazy bastard. You’ll get nothin’. What will Belle say with no meat to feed that babe in her belly? All you had to do was a little bit of work.’
Turning his back to Miles, Kaylen pulled a long knife from the wall of his shed. Then he sat to sharpen it on the whetstone.
Emotion roiled within Miles. How did Kaylen know that Belle was pregnant? He must have been spying on them, listening through the windows.
Miles shivered at the thought. Looking at the carcass, he had to admit that they did need the meat to supplement their diet. A freshly drowned cow was not spoiled meat. He rolled up his sleeves.
Kaylen slashed the hide around the hooves and around the neck. Miles grabbed the fore hooves and held the carcass so that Kaylen could slit the beast down the middle.
Offal spilled onto a groundsheet. Together, they sectioned up the animal and laid it out in the shed. Nothing was wasted. All of it was useful from the ripe flesh of the rump to the intestines. Miles wished that the work progressed faster and hoped Kaylen would not insist that he stay for the salting of the meat and the cleaning of the offal. He’d be lucky if Kaylen spared him a bone for all his hard work.
Long hours passed and thirst plagued Miles. ‘Have to get home and have a drink and a bite to eat. If you need help, let me know and I’ll come back.’
Kaylen grunted and continued with his task. He did not look up as Miles headed out of the shed and back to the lake.
Although Miles was tired, he took his time to pick the shore clean as he made his way home, after washing the blood from his hands.
Concern wrinkled, Miles’ brow. There was no way to avoid telling Belle about what happened. She wouldn’t be happy as there would be twice as much to do the next day.
Soreness in his muscles weighed him down as did the knowledge that it was going to get worse before better. As he walked under a starless sky, he saw the horizon glow with pale yellow light that imbued the night with a brownish cloak. The outline of a few dead trees reached out, clawing the air. He stood there, letting the lap of water and the ghost of sky surround him. It was then he heard the moan.
Stopping his breath, Miles listened for the sound to repeat. There it was again. Near the base of a partially submerged tree. He scrambled over to it. In the dark shadow of the roots was a man shape.
‘Who is there?’
‘Awwwwl,’ said the man shape.
Miles felt gingerly in the water and touched a hand, which in turn grasped him. Carefully as he could, he half dragged the man and laid him on the shore.
Miles ran his hands over the man’s body and could feel no broken bones or obvious injuries. That was a relief. If he had broken skin or bones then there wasn’t much they could do but watch him die. They had no medicines here. All had disappeared when the others went away. Not that there had been many people or medicines to start with.
Leaving the man lying in the dirt, Miles went to lock his stock in their pen. Then a final check of his chores, he returned the lakeshore. The man lay still and quiet but came to his feet readily when Miles dragged him up. Together they lurched to the farmhouse, the man barely consciousness.
Miles began to worry about the stranger. Miles couldn’t anticipate what argument there would be but Kaylen didn’t need an excuse to pick a fight these days. Best he hide the man until he recovers and can fend for himself.
With the light behind her, Belle waited by the open door, flicking sparrow-sized moths that dived bombed into a pan by her foot. They were nice fried and served with yoghurt.
‘What have you found?’ she gasped as she ran toward him. Hands to her mouth, she gaped at the man.
‘A new kind of lake salvage, I think. Quick let’s get him inside.’
In the wan candlelight, the man’s complexion appeared grey. Twigs, leaves and dirt clung to the remains of his charred trousers and three or four rips in his shirt revealed pale hairless skin. Thick brown, pungent mud covered his sturdy boots. With eyes clenched tight, the man moaned slightly but did not open his eyes or speak.
‘How did he get here?’ Belle’s voice had a hysterical edge. Her hand covered her abdomen.
Miles soothed his panicked wife, cupping her face and smoothing the concern from her mouth with his thumbs. ‘I don’t know. We have to hide him somewhere.’
‘Hide?’ Her puzzled gaze cleared. ‘Oh I see,’ she said nodding. ‘That would be the best thing. The wood closet under the floor is near empty. We could put him there for now.’
Miles raced into the bedroom and found the edge of the trapdoor. Belle stood by the man, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder, her gaze returning repeatedly to the front door. After lifting himself down into the small hole, Miles cleared the left over driftwood and then levered himself up again to find a blanket. Belle helped as best she could in sliding the man’s semi-inert form over to the hatchway. Then they lowered him feet first into the hole. Belle then cut up some bread and a filled a water jug to put beside the man in case he woke up.
A thump on the door made them both start. Miles nodded to Belle, who walked over to the door while Miles eased the trapdoor closed, and followed behind her.
As the unlocked door swung open, Miles saw Kaylen standing there filling up the doorway, a joint of meat on his shoulder. ‘Here you go, little missus,’ Kaylen said in his rough voice. ‘Thought you could do with some meat in you, seein’ you are in the family way.’
Miles ground his teeth. Belle cringed away from Kaylen, unable to hide her fear. Ever since Kaylen’s wife died in childbirth the year before, Belle had been wary of their neighbour. Belle had tried to help at the premature birth, but there was nothing she could do. It was a night of blood and death.
Kaylen smiled broadly and stepped through the door as Belle cowered away. How Miles wished Kaylen would follow the others and move away and leave them in peace.
‘That’s mighty generous of you,’ Miles said stepping forward. Kaylen ignored him and thumped the meat onto the table. Miles nodded to Belle, who went to bring glasses. ‘May we offer you some wine?’
‘I recall you have some very nice spirit hiding around here. The one your father laid down.’
‘I think we have some left.’ Miles cringed. He wanted to keep that aging spirit as long as possible, savouring for the anniversary of his father’s passing. He went to the pantry and pulled down the small botte. Kaylen would not leave until it was all drunk.
Belle stepped forward and placed some plain biscuits on the table before their guest. She eyed the small cups as Miles poured the spirit in. ‘I’m feeling tired
. Do you mind if I go to bed? I have to get up early in the morning to start the baking.’
‘Don’t you go runnin’ away on us,’ Kaylen bellowed. ‘Sit down and have a drink.’
Belle lowered her head. ‘Thank you for the invitation but my mother always said a woman should not take strong drink when carrying a babe and it has been a long day.’ Before he could speak again, she slipped into the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her.
‘Bah. What a weak woman you have there. Always skulking around and hanging her head. Got no life in her at all. In these parts, a man wants a woman who will work beside him, drink with him and fight with him. None of this ‘feeling tired’ and popping off to bed as soon as company comes along.’
‘Take no offense. The babe does tire her and the worry with the lake and all. We were well short of water before it filled again. It’s a woman’s nature to dwell on things.’
Kaylen swallowed his cup of spirit in one gulp and slammed it down. Miles refilled it again, wishing he was better able to deflect their neighbour’s unwelcome attention. ‘My Amy was a strong woman. She didn’t let anyone talk her down. Not even me when I was giving her a whooping. I miss the old girl.’
‘Ever thought of going to town and looking for a new wife?’
Kaylen raised an eyebrow. ‘What and bring one of them soft things here to the lake? Incredible. The things that go through your mind. Suppose you and your missus have been hoping that I’ll go there and not come back. I’ll be dying here. Tell you straight. Nothing will make me leave this land. It were my father’s and his before him. I promised him, I did. That I wouldn’t leave.’
Kaylen put his cup down for another drink. Miles poured it in. No longer drinking the strong, smoky spirit himself. There was not enough to fill Kaylen’s cup.
‘You’re a bit light on in the drink.’
‘That’s the last. Sorry.’ Miles yawned widely, not really working hard to feign his fatigue. He would have to tend to the meat before bed too. Kaylen lingered for another hour, sometimes staring into space and not bothering to speak. He filled up the small cottage with his presence and his scent. Miles could only sit politely and wait for his neighbour to grow bored and leave. Miles didn’t realise he had dropped off to sleep until Kaylen scrapped back his chair and stomped on the floor boards. ‘Terribly sorry. I was more tired than I thought.’
Beneath the Floating City collection Page 8
