Asimov's SF, April-May 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “Who do you think they are?” Marie had climbed down the ladder into the cockpit; now she stood behind Lars, gazing at the campsite through the bubble.

  “Does it matter?” Lars throttled back the engines as he turned the yoke toward shore. “First people we've seen in almost a week. Probably the only guys we're going to see this side of New Florida.” He grinned. “Time to go over and say howdy."

  “We're not supposed to make contact with anyone.” Unnoticed by either of them, Manny had followed Marie belowdecks. “That's the condition of our..."

  “Shut up, Robby.” Lars shoved down the throttle bars. The fans growled as the engines reverse-propped; the skimmer's bow rose slightly upon the crest of its own wake. “Ain't a colony, is it? So we can meet ‘em if we want to.” He glanced back at the savant. “And since when did you become boss?"

  Marie kept her silence. Already, two men were wading out into the shallows, preparing to grab hold of the skimmer and help tow it ashore. Their beards were long and unkempt, their clothes ragged and patched together. Upon the beach, several more men and women stared at them; although a couple held up their hands in greeting, she saw no welcoming smiles.

  “He might be right,” she murmured, feeling a forbidding chill. “Maybe we should..."

  “Look, it's just for a little while, okay?” Lars cut the engines, let their momentum carry the skimmer the rest of the way ashore. “'Sides, we gotta make camp soon anyway. Why not with these guys?” He stared at her. “Anything wrong with that?"

  “No ... no, I guess not.” Her voice was meek. “It's just that..."

  “Yeah, well, hold that thought.” Lars pushed himself out of his seat, then slid between her and Manny, practically shoving them out of the way in his haste to get topside. “Need to drop anchor before this heap drifts away."

  Manny watched him as he scampered up the ladder. “Who knows?” he said quietly. “Maybe seeing someone else might do him some good."

  Marie could already hear men clambering up the sides of the skimmer. Recalling stories of Caribbean pirates she'd heard when she was very young, it wasn't hard to visualize them with bandanas tied around their heads and daggers clenched within their teeth.

  “Stay with me,” she whispered. “Please, whatever you do ... just stay with me."

  * * * *

  From the diary of Marie Montero: Uriel 53, c.y. 05 (extract)

  Stopping was a mistake. We should've stayed away, just waved and kept going. But Lars insisted, and Manny thought it might be good for him if he saw someone else besides just him and me. But if I could take it back, somehow run back the clock, we would've never set foot on the beach.

  I was nervous about these people from the get-go, especially the way a couple of their guys climbed aboard without so much as a how-do. I didn't like the way they looked at me, like I was fresh meat they'd love to skewer. But Manny really put the spook on them ... the last thing they expected to see was a Savant, not to mention one with a rifle in his hands, so they calmed down a bit once we came ashore, and introduced themselves as politely as they could.

  Turns out they're a group from New Boston, about three hundred miles N x NE from where we found them. Twenty-seven in all, mostly men, although there's also a few women and a couple of children. They built the boats themselves and set out from Midland to explore the West Channel, mainly to see if they could find a location for a new settlement. They'd been on the river for about three weeks when we happened upon them, and they were just as surprised to see us as we were to see them.

  That warned me right then and there that something was wrong. New Boston isn't a major colony, but it's well-off enough that no one ought to want to leave it to go exploring, or at least not in the last month of summer, with autumn just ahead. And these guys seem to have just enough to get by on ... just a few patched-up tents and some hand-me-down equipment that'd seen better days. Even their guns are old Union Guard flechette rifles left over from the war, and they didn't have but a few of those. Like they'd just grabbed whatever they could get their hands on before they shipped out.

  But they've got plenty of booze. About six kegs of sourgrass ale, along with a few jugs of bearshine that they said they'd been saving for a special occasion. Soon as Lars heard that, I knew we were staying for the night, whether Manny or I liked it or not.

  At least their leader is someone I can trust. Woman by the name of Chris Smith—guess it's short for Christine, although almost everyone calls her Missus Smith. Big lady, with arms that look like they could yank the wings off a boid. Real no-nonsense attitude. When one of the guys started to get a little frisky with me, she stepped in and stared him down. He backed off right quick, and after that the others decided to look but not touch. At least for a while.

  They got a bonfire started shortly after sunset, and a couple of guys fried some redfish they caught this morning. For a while, it wasn't so bad: just a bunch of people, chowing down around the campfire and swapping stories about what we've seen and done since we left home. Lars didn't tell anyone exactly why we'd left Liberty, and none of them told us exactly why they'd left New Boston, but after a while I got the feeling that the reasons were pretty much the same. These people were too ornery for the place where they'd come from, and someone had told them to hit the road and not come back.

  Well, good enough. But then a few of the men got into serious drinking, and that was when I noticed that the rest, including all the women and children, began making themselves scarce. The only woman who stayed behind was Missus Smith. She parked herself on a log next to me, and I noticed that her right hand never strayed far from the big hunting knife she kept in a scabbard on her belt.

  Manny was there, too. Although no one liked having him around—all through dinner, he had to put up with stuff like “Hey, where'd you get the pet robot?” and “Maybe we can break him down for spare parts"—he never left my side, and stood behind me while we ate. He said nothing, and after a while people pretty much forgot he was there.

  So it was Manny and Missus Smith who saved me from getting gang-raped, because I have no doubt that's what would've happened if they hadn't been there. I was tired, and about ready to head for our tent, when Lars happened to remark that we hadn't brought any liquor of our own, and would anyone consider making a trade for a jug of bearshine.

  Someone suggested that they'd swap a jug for one of our carbines, but Lars shook his head and told him that we only had two and we needed both of them. Another guy said that he'd settle for our satphone, and for a moment I thought Lars would actually do that, so I said that we needed it, too, no thanks. And then someone else—a skinny guy named James—said that he'd trade up for a night with me.

  Lars looked at him. Then he looked at me. Then he looked at the jug James was holding out. And then he just shrugged and said, “Sure, why not?"

  At first I thought he was joking. I mean, there was a smile on his face when he said this. But then James said, “All right, it's a deal” and then he stood up and started toward me. “Let's go, honey-doll. We got a big night ahead of us."

  That's when I knew he wasn't kidding. He meant to drag me off to his tent and ... well, you can guess the rest. And not only that, but since his pals stood up as well, it was pretty clear that James wouldn't mind having company. Lars did nothing to stop them, though. James handed him the jug, and Lars pulled out the cork and treated himself to a big swig of corn liquor. Didn't even look at me.

  Chris stood up and pulled out her knife. “No deal,” she said. “Everyone just stay put and no one gets hurt.” But they didn't back down. After all, she was outnumbered at least six to one. No matter how tough she might be, there's no way she could take them all at once.

  Then there was a shot behind us, and I knew without looking that Manny had fired his gun in the air. Everyone jumped except for Lars, who just stayed where he was, cool as can be, while Manny lowered the gun and pointed it straight at James.

  No one said a word, but James and his posse backed off
. They went back to where they'd been sitting, and for a couple of minutes no one said anything. Then someone remarked that Bear had come up and didn't it look pretty tonight, and pretty soon everyone was back to talking about the weather and fishing and what-else, as if nothing had happened.

  Chris didn't sit down, though, and she didn't put her knife away. She nudged me with her elbow and cocked her head toward the skimmer. That was all the advice I needed. I stood up and, with Manny beside me, walked back to where we'd beached the skimmer. I didn't breathe easy until I'd climbed back aboard, and didn't feel safe until I went belowdecks.

  I'm sleeping in the skimmer tonight, with the hatch shut and Manny standing watch topside, as he'd done while we were still on New Florida. It's not boids he's on the lookout for, though, but James and his buddies. Lars hasn't returned and I hope he doesn't. Looking through the cockpit at the bonfire, I can hear him: laughing, singing, getting drunk. Not a care in the world.

  Sure know how to pick ‘em, don't I?

  * * * *

  Lars seemed to remember nothing of what had happened the night before. When Marie saw him again the following morning, his clothes were grimy from having slept on the beach next to the bonfire. His breath reeked of alcohol, and he claimed to have no recollection of attempting to trade her for a jug of bearshine. So far as he was concerned, all he'd done was have a little party with some newfound friends. But Marie couldn't help but notice that he was unable to look her in the eye, or that he avoided having anything to do with Manny.

  She wanted to leave at once, as did Manny. While Lars stumbled off toward the latrine, the other two of them packed up their gear. Much to her surprise, nothing appeared to be missing; the fact that they'd left most of their equipment aboard the skimmer probably had something to do with this. The half-dozen men who'd stayed up all night were still sleeping off their hangovers; those who were awake studiously avoided Marie and Manny while they disassembled the tent and rolled up the sleeping bags, yet just as they were about to carry everything to the skimmer, Chris Smith came over to them.

  “Just wanted to say I'm sorry about what happened last night.” Like Lars, she had trouble looking at Marie, and instead gazed at the smoldering remains of the bonfire. “What James said and did was...” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. “Look, it's no way to treat a guest, let's put it that way."

  “No, it wasn't.” Marie was tempted to turn her back on Missus Smith until she saw how embarrassed the woman was. “Appreciate you standing up for me,” she added, her tone softening. “Would've been worse if you hadn't."

  “Yeah, well...” Straightening her broad shoulders, she turned to look at the nearby tents. “My fault. James and his boys seem to think they run the show here. They tried this once before with some of the other women. I put it down then, thought it wouldn't happen again. If I'd known it would, I would've warned you.” She hesitated. “Besides, I thought your man would've ... I mean, that he would have defended you, not..."

  “You're no more surprised than I am.” Marie turned to look in the direction Lars had gone. Through the brush that marked the edge of the campsite, she saw him standing at the edge of the latrine pit, his back turned to them as he relieved his bladder. As she watched, he abruptly collapsed to his hands and knees; even from that distance, she could hear gagging sounds as everything in his stomach forced its way up through his throat. No longer did he resemble the guerrilla fighter with whom she'd fallen in love. Instead he was a pathetic drunk. All of a sudden, she realized how much she had come to despise him.

  “If I could leave him behind,” she murmured, “I'd do so in a heartbeat."

  Chris quietly regarded her a moment. “Got a minute?” she asked at last. “Or are you in a hurry to get out of here?” Marie looked back at her, and Missus Smith nodded toward the water's edge. “Take a walk with me, sister. I got a proposition for you."

  Marie glanced at Manny. The savant nodded, then reached forward to take the folded tent from her. As Manny carried their equipment to the skimmer, Chris led Marie down the beach, away from the campsite.

  “You probably figured out by now that we're not your usual settlers,” Chris said once they were out of earshot of anyone else. “Fact is, most of us are here ‘cause we got fed up with New Boston. It's become an iron town ever since they found the Gillis lode, and these people aren't the kind who want to spend their lives down in some mine with pick-axes in their hands. So we gathered up what little we could and sailed off down the channel, looking for some place to start our own colony."

  “Makes sense. We've had people like that leave Liberty since the war was over."

  “I know. I was in Forest Camp during the occupation, working on the bridge project. So's most everyone else here. When Rigil Kent blew up the bridge, we headed north and started New Boston. So we're used to cutting timber, not digging holes. But...” She shrugged. “Well, lately I've begun to wonder just how serious some of these guys really are."

  “I don't understand."

  Missus Smith stopped and turned toward the beach. “Take a look around, tell me what you see.” Without waiting for Marie to respond, she pointed inland. “I'll tell you what I see. Plenty of dry land past the beach, with a freshwater river leading down from the mountains. No boids to worry about ... they're all on the other side of the channel. And up there in the hills, all the wood you could possibly want. Good, solid timber, too ... not just blackwood and faux-birch like on New Florida, but rough bark and mountain briar as well. With some work, this place could become a major settlement."

  In her mind's eye, Marie perceived the place as Chris imagined it: not as a broken-down fishing camp, but as a thriving frontier colony. And she had a point. Most of Liberty, and much of Midland on the other side of the Eastern Channel, had already been deforested during the Union effort to build the Garcia Narrows Bridge. Although this place was farther away from Liberty than Forest Camp, she'd already glimpsed the vast, untouched wilderness of Great Dakota. There was potential here, no doubt about it.

  “Have you talked about this with anyone else?” she asked.

  Missus Smith let out her breath as a dry snort. “Sure I have. We've been here nearly two weeks, y'know. And a few of us see it as I do. But James and his bunch...” She absently kicked a clump of beach grass in frustration. “Should've never let them get into the booze. Hell, if I'd known they'd turn into a bunch of drunks, I'd never have let ‘em bring it in the first place. Now all they want to do is drink and fish, and half the time they're too messed up to fish. Like this is some sort of vacation."

  She looked at Marie. “Last night was the final straw,” she went on, more quietly now. “I've had it with ‘em. No more parties, no more trying to gang-bang anyone with tits. So I'm cutting ‘em loose."

  Marie stared at her. “You can do that?"

  “Sure, I can.” A grim smile. “Second day out from New Boston, when we made camp on the north shore of New Florida, James and I had a little disagreement about who was in charge. So we had an election, winner take all. I won. And believe me, I can make it stick. Maybe you didn't see it last night, but there's a lot of people among us who are just as sick and tired of him and his pals as I am.” Missus Smith patted the knife on her hip for effect. “If I tell em to go, then they'll go."

  “Sure, but ... where'd they go?"

  “I don't care.” She pointed to the two keelboats anchored near the skimmer. “They can take either one of the boats ... both are in good condition. Load up their tents and take the booze with ‘em, and head any which way they choose. North, east, west, south ... wherever they can get the news. So long as they're not hanging around here, causing trouble."

  She paused. “If you want to get rid of your man,” she said, very quietly, “here's your chance. I saw what he tried to do last night. He would've pimped your ass for a jug of bearshine. Whatever caused you to light out for the country with him is none of my business, but..."

  “I know.” Marie looked back at camp.
Lars was nowhere to be seen, yet she felt his presence nonetheless, and it gave her a chill. Sometime in the last week, the tough-minded yet easy-going guy whom she'd met during the Revolution had disappeared. Perhaps he'd never been there in the first place; all she'd seen was what she had wanted to see. Yet the fact remained that, from the moment they'd left Liberty, all he'd given her was heartache and misery. Two days ago, he'd shown no remorse when she'd been attacked by a boid. And last night...

  “Can Manny stay?” she asked abruptly.

  “The savant?” Chris thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I'm not crazy about those kind, but if you really insist...."

  “I mean it. If I stay, he stays, too.” She hesitated. “Look, he saved my life. Twice now, in fact."

  “Yeah, yeah, all right.” Missus Smith smiled. “He's handy with a gun, I'll give him that much.” Then her smile faded, and her expression became more serious. “So, are you with us? Or do you want to take your chances with Lars? Tell me now, because I need to know where you stand."

  Marie took a deep breath. “I'm with you."

  “Good.” Missus Smith clapped her on the shoulder. “Glad to have you with us. Now let's go and read ‘em the riot act."

  * * * *

  Lars didn't take Marie seriously at first. Even when she climbed aboard the skimmer to throw his belongings on the beach, he seemed to think she was simply having a fit; he stood nearby with his arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face. It was not until Missus Smith told him to pick up his gear and carry it to the closer of the two keelboats that he realized this wasn't a joke. He was being expelled, along with the New Boston colonists who'd been at last night's drinking party.