Prime Pickings

by Richard Raley

  Prime Pickings

  —An Eater Short—

  By Richard Raley

  Copyright © 2011 by Richard Raley

  http://richardraley.blogspot.com

  www.twitter.com/richardraley

  richardraley@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events are fictitious and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, places or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  NOVELS BY RICHARD RALEY

  THE KING HENRY TAPES

  The Foul Mouth and the Fanged Lady

  The Foul Mouth and the Cat Killing Coyotes

  The Foul Mouth and the Troubled Boomworm (forthcoming)

  STANDALONES

  The Betrothal: Or How I Saved Alan Edwards from 40 Years of Hell

  NOVELLAS AND SHORTS

  Prime Pickings: An Eater Short

  Slime Dinner: An Eater Short (forthcoming)

  Little King Henry: A KH Short

  Conquering Hero: A KH Short (forthcoming)

  In a distant, unexpected future . . .

  Dawn broke and the tribe found their ship hovering over a nice bit of cityscape.

  The usual hint of salt hung in the air alongside, but only a hint to tickle the nose this morning, ocean waters nowhere in sight. The day before the tribe had gone out over the water in their usual custom: casting nets, hauling up whatever they found in them. Fair bit of fish, even a lone dollfin. Fair bit a plastic too—which was just fine for Yechter. Might not be able to eat it, but plastic was damn useful once it was out of their recyclers, could even be burned to fuel some ‘pliances.

  When the tide was out they paused just long enough to send down scavenging parties up and down the coast, packing foil-bags with shellfish and small rust-colored crabs stuck along the rocks and the concrete ruins. The hunters even shot a seagull or two, not that anyone really wanted to eat seagull, it tasting horrible, but you took what the gods gave you. Decent bait meat at least.

  As a boy, Yechter’s granddad used to tell him stories of big mammals on the coasts, with fuzzy coats and flippers for feet—‘cutest little things you ever seen,’ he’d say with a smile. Granddad lied about everything else, don’t see why he didn’t lie about his precious Tottes too. In all his years, Yechter had never seen the like . . . and his years were starting to build on top of one another.

  Big mammals.

  Didn’t see many big mammals nowadays anywhere. Occasional herd of horses that could outrun the Eaters, maybe an old lion too mean and tricky to get caught—but those were rare. You heard rumors of other animals, but you never saw them in the wild. People liked making up rumors to pass the hours by.

  Best meat Yechter had ever tasted was wild dog, big mean son-of-a-bitch out east over the mountains, near Aho ways. Fine bit of muscle on that dog, seventy maybe eighty pounds—makes a man hungry just thinking about it.

  Might have been the memory or it might have been the women starting up cooking the break-meal. Fish just like supper-meal from the day before, but no one would dare complain about the rerun on his ship. Fish was good, easy to cook on the move even, just spear it with some metal and let it turn over the wavecooker. Sprinkle on some herbs from the gardens . . . quality food, break-meal or supper-meal.

  And no risk of Eaters out over the ocean where we catch the fish.

  “Morn’ Chief,” a voice murmured from behind Yechter’s shoulder.

  Yechter didn’t bother turning. How many days you think start like this? Lots of them, he figured. How many days you think start with me asking myself that question? Few of them too, he figured.

  At his shoulder, Noana was bigger than any other woman on the ship, bigger than most of the men on the ship too. Freak of nature . . . just like the Eaters. Took a lot to feed her, but Noana was good to have in a spot. She’d been Hunt Head for three years now . . . after the last Hunt Head got himself ate by being particularly stupid not bothering with hiding when an Eater lumbered over him. Fool tried to make a run for it instead.

  Least he died quick-like. One chomp death, no chewing, we should all be so lucky.

  “Morn’ Noana. Looks fine, don’t it?”

  “Looks mighty fine,” Noana murmured some more, the walkway they stood on creaking from her weight. Going to have to remind Jonny to tighten up those bolts and reweld them seams. Better for Yechter if he had to listen to Jonny complain about extra work than daring to ask Noana to skip a meal.

  The ship could hover anywhere from fifty to five hundred feet over the earth below. Hundred was more likely. High enough up so Eaters couldn’t reach them. But high enough up so falling will kill you deader than an Eater’s mouth. Falling or getting pushed by a woman recently nagged about her weight . . .

  “Look at all them buildings,” Yechter said, very proud in his navigational skills.

  The tribe was miles north of the cityscape of Angliego. Lots of scrap to be had in those gigantic ruins that went on and on but lots of tribes to fight with too. You even had to watch for the grounders, Xanicans and Zonans from the south and east respectively. Too much trouble. Better just to stay north long the coast, eat the fish and like it.

  That’s what the tribe had been doing for the last couple years. Drifting along all the coastal ruins, picking through shellfish and crabs and concrete, going out to get real fish and plastic once a week. Not a fun living, but they hadn’t seen an Eater in the time either. The tribe could have done the same for years more, all the way up north towards Ashingland, but the day before they’d come across a promising roadway leading inland from the ruins.

  Promising roadway . . . fog clearing perfectly so you could make it out from the shoreline . . .

  Almost perfect. No marks of Eater claws on it. No sign of other tribes scavenging for tar. Most perfect road Yechter or any of his Heads had ever seen. Time had got to it with weeds and water and all the usual suspects, but time gets to everything. Couldn’t pass it up.

  And good thing we didn’t!

  The road led the tribe into the hills. Nice hills too. Green hills, wrapped in fog. Had to be careful moving the ship in fog. Kept it higher than usual and moved slower than usual, burned off some good power doing it, but it was worth it. Thank the gods for all them plastics. No sign of Eaters in the hills either. Eaters didn’t like hills much. Preferred themselves level ground, being as big as they were. His Head Garden, Atric, told Yechter more than once about Eater calorie burn or something such, but being as it didn’t relate to the ship or to hunting, Yechter had never really bothered to listen.

  Before Yechter’s dad died and Yechter replaced him through the vote, the first piece of advice his old man gave was, ‘A chief with a head full of things and with no room to do his thinking is no good to anyone. So don’t you try to learn the whole ship, it’s too big for one head.’

  “Prime pickings in those buildings,” Noana agreed after a long silence.

  Yechter could only nod, hand scratching at his graying beard.

  The hills opened up into curvy land, with the same roadway going curvy itself. There were some signs where civilization had once been—wrecked homes and the like, rusted spike-fences marking boundaries no Eater or hovership would recognize. It wasn’t long before they’d come on the city spread out over the land.

  The fog cleared to clean skies and the green grass turned its way to yellow, the heat of the day rising for every mile the tribe put between themselves and the ocean. Houses grouped together, what looked like storefronts, even abandoned cars. All of it was covered in rust and moss and wild growth and every other type o
f scavenger, but now the biggest scavengers of all had found the place and were going to make it theirs.

  Prime pickings!

  Yechter leaned against the safety railing, watching the land as the sun worked up to the day. “I suspect we’ll find plenty, maybe even spend a week or two really digging at it for we go back to the ocean.”

  “Think so?” Noana asked him, like he wasn’t Chief and wouldn’t be making the decision.

  “Got to be plenty to look over. Scrap metal, plastics, maybe even some copper, hell . . . maybe even some preciouses left.” Yechter spit over the side of the ship. Wife wasn’t around, that meant he could. “Might even be a dog or two.”

  “Cats at least.”

  “Can’t stand cat meat . . .”

  “Can’t stand fish but I been eating it for over a year.”

  It got him laughing. Noana liked herself some mammal or bird. Must have been something to do with her size. That theory might have explained why Eaters wanted human meat too . . . being as they killed all the cows first off and humans were left biggest mammal. “You aren’t going to like break-meal then. I know the Cook Head and she’s cooking some fishhead stew. Latest batch of chilies grew up and she’s itching to use ‘em. Gonna be nice and spicy.”

  Noana’s whole body was already focused on the hunt of the day, eyes out on the city and forgetting her stomach. “Think we might find a ‘pliance in all that?”

  Yechter looked out over the expanse of city covered in trees and tall grass with new eyes. “Shit, girl, don’t get too greedy now or the gods will strike us down.”

  *

  At last count, the Ceanmaste Tribe had itself four-hundred and twenty-two members. Big tribe for a single-ship hover tribe but Yechter wouldn’t have dropped a single one of them off the side. They all pulled their weight, even the kids. Soon as you turned five you better be hiding in a storage room if you didn’t want some adult to put a task to you.

  Of course, work or not, feeding them all is a pain in my ass . . .

  “Chief! It looking good for today?” a piping voice asked the exact second Yechter’s front foot touched down on the social room’s clean metal floor.

  “Course it looks good,” Yechter growled at little Eorge Hackson, all of sixteen and ready to make a name for himself on scavenge team so he might have a chance at getting a wife. I remember when that was my only worry too . . . that and marriage giving you your own room to get private in . . . those were the days! Ceanmaste Tribe had twenty teenage men and fifteen teenage women. There were going to be problems when they all hit marrying age.

  Not if I can throw a few overboard, Yechter thought, giving little Eorge a glare so strong it let the lad in on his inner monologue. “Anyone else asks me a question before I get break-meal and I’m giving ‘em engine duty for a month—got it?” he yelled at the vast open expanse of the room, walls echoing his own order back at him.

  About three hundred pairs of eyes stared his way, but not one of them dared to say a word. Results! Yechter nodded to himself. Nice and quiet, just like he wanted break-meal every day.

  Behind his shoulder, still lumbering on like a guard to some Settle King, Noana said, “You’re getting cranky in your old age, know that?”

  Yechter grunted, sliding up in the line for his meal. Chief or not, he’d always felt it did people good to know he waited just like them. Waited, feasted, starved—the whole ship did it together. Not like a Settle King at all. “Since yours was more of a comment and not pure question, I’m going to let it slide this time.”

  “Either that or ‘cuz you’re scared to tell me what to do,” Noana agreed, standing in line behind him.

  “You don’t scare me.”

  “Your wife do.”

  “So? My wife scares the whole ship. Why shouldn’t she scare me too?”

  “Your wife likes me.”

  “So? My wife likes me too . . . even lets me sleep in the same room as her after all these years, how ‘bout that?”

  The waiting line petered out and the Cook Head gave a glower to the pair of them. Ennif was getting old like a many of them on the ship were, forty-six by the tribe record books, but she was still a gorgeous creature. Pretty like a bird, all sharp and dainty, with hair gone silver at the tips but still a deep brown for the most part. Her eyes were deep brown too and never looked more beautiful than when she was thinking you were slighting her. Woman’s glare has led to more children for us than her naked body ever has . . .

  Ennif poured soup in a bowl, adding an extra helping of meat when she thought Yechter was staring at her face too hard to notice. “You two talking ‘bout me?”

  “Talking ‘bout my wife,” Yechter told her, taking the bowl.

  “Aren’t I your wife?” Ennif asked.

  “That’s what the children tell me, not sure if I believe it though.” Yechter gave her a smile, nodding over his bowl as thanks. “Don’t see how I married so well.”

  Noana slid up next. Ennif poured mostly broth in her bowl, but pulled out a slice of ration-bread and set it in the middle were it would soak the juices. “The children tell me you married so well because you must of drugged me with liquor.”

  Noana nodded her thanks as well. “Was just explaining to Chief how since he was scared of you and you liked me, how he should put ‘em together and realize he’s scared of me too.”

  Ennif gave her smiling troublemaking husband a final glower. “That’s some good math, dear; don’t ever let him disparage your brain.”

  Spicy Fishhead Soup. Yechter had been eating fish soup once a week for a year, but rarely with the added spicy on top of it, the garden taking time to produce it’s different herbs, spices, nuts, fruits, and vegetables. It was hardly enough to meet the demand for the whole tribe every day and rationing never felt fair, so instead they made do with adding words on top of their food from time to time. Peppered Fishhead Soup. Fishhead Soup with Tomato. Adding words added enough flair for anyone to keep going, Yechter felt.

  Better than a lottery.

  Half done with his bowl, Noana finally interrupted, having already finished her own on account of eating at the same size she did everything else. “Where you think we at abouts?”

  “That one was full on question,” he pointed out.

  “You ate enough.”

  “I ate half, which ain’t all,” he said around a mouthful of fish meat and sliced chili. “And the minute they see me talking to you they think I’ll talk to them. Unlike my wife, they don’t know about your special math.”

  Noana gave him another few spoonfuls of peace, waving off a trio of scavengers as they performed exactly as Yechter had said they’d perform.

  Eventually, his bowl down to nothing but soup and a lone chili slice, she couldn’t help herself, repeating, “Where you think we at abouts?”

  “East where we usually at,” Yechter grumbled.

  “For having such prime pickings under your ship you sure are in a bad way.”

  “It’s my nature.” His spoon hit the bottom of his empty bowl like a bell. Eyes all over the social room lit up like Eaters spotting a fat settleman lost his way. Would that I had my wife’s reputation, but me . . . they just tell themselves I’m being cranky and grin it away.

  “Think we’re close to Fraskerfeld?” Noana asked, her most definite question yet.

  “South of that, few days swift travel at least.”

  “They say Fraskerfeld is heavy with scavenge, crops growing for miles just by themselves, ripe for the picking.”

  “They are right; problem is they always leave out the part about how Fraskerfeld is crawling with Eaters on account of being so flat for miles and miles. So many you’re never even out of sight of one.” Yechter pretended to still be eating with an empty spoon.

  Noana also pretended . . . that her chief wasn’t crazy. “Might be worth quick drops for so much food. Sure we could rig something to hang down and cut and haul.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “How can we kn
ow if we’ve never been? A woman gets tired of roaming the coast her whole life.”

  “My granddad and dad been,” Yechter explained. “Back when Dad was just new to scavenge, thirteen abouts, and old Vicet Rownac was chief. Vicet got bored, thought he’d try for some glory, scavenge up all of Fraskerfeld, then take the goods—all them grapes and nuts, even cotton—all the way up to the San Bay Settlement and do himself some trading, make the Ceanmaste the richest hover tribe in the whole world.”

  “So how it work out?”

  “So the Ceanmaste lost itself over thirty scavengers,” Yechter grumbled, “and not a family went without death in its room. Old Vicet Rownac took it so hard he put his mag-rifle in his mouth and pulled the trigger. That’s how Granddad got the job and that’s how my dad got the job after him and how I got the job now . . . so I guess I can blame Fraskerfeld for the fact I got half the room ready to jump me asking questions as soon as I stop pretending I’m still eating.”

  Noana nodded. “No Fraskerfeld.”

  “These ruins . . . then back to the coast.”

  “Got it, Chief.”

  “Think they buying my fake souping?”

  *

  Nothing against the ship, it was as level as you could want a ship to be, but it ain’t comparable to the good Earth. To the ship there’s a hum at your boots and a creak to your steps, to the Earth it’s nothing but soft footfalls, that great feeling of crunchy hardness below you. The seas my rise, the wind might blow, and a fire could get out of control—but the earth ain’t never falling away. It was there and it was staying.

  Yechter sighed to himself as he touched down, releasing the descent rope and stepping out of the way before another of the scavenger team arrived. “Prime pickings,” he mumbled, glancing around him at the dilapidated houses stacked almost on top of each other, screened by overgrowth of tall grasses.