“Snowshoe hare,” Richard said. His gaze skittered across the table top, stopping on each figure in turn. When he looked back at Rachel, the fear and uncertainty in his eyes stabbed at her.
“Richard? He’s the son of a shaman.” She smiled at him and lowered herself back into her chair.
A lifetime of doubt, fear, and uncertainty resolved itself in his face as she watched. His eyes turned bleak and he blinked rapidly. “So am I,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “So am I.”
With a cry, she stepped to him and wrapped her arms around his head, cradling him against her chest and holding him, protecting him, rocking him gently while his shoulders shook and his arms circled her hips, anchoring him to the only rock he could find.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aram’s Inlet
March 16, 2305
The summons came just after breakfast. Jimmy and Tony were still at the Beanery trying to figure out where the conversation had taken the sudden turn to starboard the day before.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly the response I expected,” Jimmy said.
Tony snickered. “Wish we’d booked passage now?”
“It’s too late. There isn’t an empty berth out of the system until sometime late in 2310.”
“Well, now what do we do?” Tony asked.
“We see what’s got the Ole Man in a twitch, and go from there.”
They were settling up with Barney when the calls came, one for each, and summoned them to Aram House. When they got off the elevator, Stephanie waited at the door to let them in.
“Good morning, gentlemen. He’s in the lounge.”
They left their jackets on the hall tree and went through to the lounge. It was a small conference room, complete with projectors, extra data terminals, and a large coffee table that could lift hydraulically to become a conference table, should the need arise. Jimmy wasn’t terribly surprised to see Violet, Andrew, and a few of the other Allied people already waiting, along with some of Jimmy’s own office staff.
Violet smiled a wan greeting at Jimmy. “Morning, Jim. Hello, Tony.”
A coffee and pastry service ran along one wall. They helped themselves before getting comfortable.
“Interesting times.” Jimmy toasted the room at large.
Recognizing the curse, Tony snickered and raised a cup in return.
Stephanie entered, closed the door behind her, and took a seat just inside. She wore a navy pantsuit with a cream colored blouse with shockingly white pearls. She looked to the other door as the Ole Man walked in, examining a tablet in one hand and holding a mug of coffee in the other. He wore a business suit–sans jacket–and seemed engrossed in the information. He sat, slid the tablet onto the table, and looked around the room, nodding to each person in turn.
“Thanks for coming,” he growled. He seemed to think there’d been a choice.
Violet hid a smile in her coffee cup, but Jimmy caught the look that Andrew shot in her direction.
“You’ve all been laboring under a serious misconception and I’m sorry for that. It didn’t occur to the board that our actions would be misconstrued. In hindsight, we should have expected it, but there it is” The Ole Man took a sip from his mug. “The problem, of course, is that none of us is out of our minds. Not the board. Not you. Not the management company. The problem is you just don’t have the information you need to make an informed decision, and the board didn’t think they needed to spell it out.” He paused and looked around the room.
“When we passed the resolution for the new landings and production quotas, we expected that you’d do your damnedest to do what you were told. We didn’t anticipate you’d throw up your hands and plan on how to close the planet.”
“Those quotas are impossible,” Jimmy said. “You know that.”
“They may well be, Jimmy,” the Ole Man said, “but what are you doing to meet them anyway? You took out a boat? One extra boat gonna make that quota, Jimmy?”
“Of course not!”
“Violet?” the Ole Man turned to the Allied side of the room. “What have you done?”
She shot a fast sideways glance at Jimmy. “Well, we can’t do much about the lamb and mutton production in the short run, but we’ve put about ten percent more land into production, and put some of the planned fallows into alternative crops. They’ll produce this year, maybe not as high as we’d like, and the soil won’t be as productive as we’d like, but it’s a lot of fallow ground.”
“Are you going to make the quota on production?” the Ole Man asked.
“No, sir. But our projections indicate that we’re going to be close.”
“Anybody gonna lose the farm over it?”
“A few will. The crofters aren’t happy, but we’ve sent them new breeding stocks and assigned more range for them to use, and we’re working with some swine to augment the meat production. We’re going to fall short, but I think the worst case is we’ll send a lot of ‘oops letters’ to the board and move a few people around.”
The Ole Man swiveled his gaze back to Jimmy. “Initiative. I like initiative. The company likes initiative. You took out a boat.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Jimmy asked. He realized he was being set up, but he didn’t know what to do about it.
“Well, Jimmy-my-boy, that’s why you’re the Pirano planetary coordinator. My suggestion is come up with a way to catch more fish.”
Jimmy knew better than to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue and he swallowed it while his father watched and nodded.
The Ole Man looked to Stephanie and sat back in his chair.
She spoke clearly and crisply. “Ladies and gentlemen, the missing piece of information is that the Combine has won a new contract for supplying foodstuffs. As you know, approximately half the production from St. Cloud goes to satisfy long-term contracts with the Sector Authority on Dunsany Roads, and another thirty-five to forty percent goes to Margary Mining. What you don’t know is that last year we were given another contract to supply Manchester Shipyards. The amount of the contract is just under twenty percent of our current production, and that represents the amount by which the landings and production quotas were raised.”
Violet and Jimmy exchanged glances as the traffic manager for Allied spoke. “But Manchester Yards is way over in the Gretna sector. How are we going to ship that far and keep it cost effective?”
“Manchester is building a new yard,” Stephanie said.
“That’s what’s going into Margary.” Tony said.
The Ole Man smiled. “Yes, Tony. It’s going to be a major branch on this end of the Western Annex. Politically and financially, it’s going to be very important.”
Jimmy got a cold chill down the back of his neck as he realized what, exactly, was at stake. The Ole Man looked him in the eye, and he realized the error he’d made. He had to make the quota, or the Combine would fold under what would undoubtedly prove to be ruinous penalty clauses. He’d taken the boat on the assumption that nobody was going to take a Pirano’s boat away. That if they couldn’t take his, everybody else was safe.
Now he realized that his boat would be the first to go.
“Are there any questions?” the Ole Man asked the room in general. When there were none, he nodded to Stephanie.
“The information you’ve learned today, specifically about the Manchester Yard expansion and the new contract with Manchester, are covered by your non-disclosure agreements. The building plans are still under consideration at Dunsany and are expected to be approved later this summer. No word must leave St. Cloud until Manchester has made the matter public in accordance with Joint Committee on Trade regulations. Thank you all for coming. This meeting is adjourned.”
She stood and opened the doors.
Numbly, Jimmy stood and shuffled out with the rest. He didn’t follow them to the elevator, but instead walked to the front of The Roof, where the gardens provided a clear view out to the ocean. Tony trailed along behind him. The place wh
ere his mother had stepped out into air was just around the corner.
“I’m not going to jump,” Jimmy said, looking out to sea.
Tony smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. What are you going to do?”
Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t know” The onshore breeze seemed to swallow his words. “I just don’t know.”
The Ole Man stepped out into the garden and walked over to Jimmy. “Sorry to be so rough on you.”
Jimmy turned his head to stare at his father. “You could have told me. You could have let me know that the quotas were being driven by the Manchester contracts.”
“Jimmy? What would that have changed?”
Jimmy blew out a breath. “I don’t know.” He turned his gaze back out to sea.
“You work for Simon, Stevens, and Sylvester. The orders came from them. You had to know that the board directed them. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that we couldn’t decimate the fish stocks that badly. That it had to be some kind of mistake.”
“It’s no mistake, Jimmy. Now, what are you going to do about it?”
“Find a way to catch more fish.”
“That’s my boy,” the Ole Man said, clapping Jimmy on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Pop.”
“We’re on the shuttle back up to the Orbital this afternoon. You can reach me there for the next few days then we’re heading back to Dunsany. Ask before I leave if you need anything.”
Jimmy didn’t turn to watch his father walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Callum’s Cove
March 16, 2305
Otto wasn’t sure if his father was avoiding him, or if he was avoiding his father. Whatever the cause, he hadn’t seen his father since he’d been excused while the adults talked about him. His mother hadn’t been terribly forthcoming, either, but there was no more talk of changing his style of carving, and his work was replaced in the drawer without comment. He sighed.
The morning had dawned clear and cold, and the fleet had gone out to fish. Otto prowled the docks and talked to the workers. Landings were up. The early season landings were high, but there were still tight eyes and pinched mouths as they discussed the expected fall-off as the season wore on.
At midmorning he found himself standing on the end of the pier staring out to sea. A flight of Behringer’s gulls arrowed in over the headland and settled into the shelter of the outer bay, their heavy bodies making long splashes as they slid along the water’s surface before slowing enough to land. They were migratory birds that went out into the open ocean to feed over the winter and flew back each spring to breed, nest, and raise their young. He stood there in breeze, thinking about what it must be like to be out in the middle of the ocean for months at a time. No land for hundreds–even thousands of kilometers.
That’s how he happened to be standing in the village when the alarm sounded and the air-rescue flitter streaked out of the ready hanger and screamed out to sea. A sinking feeling filled him. Whatever it was, it was serious, and it had happened to somebody he knew. He closed his eyes and leaned on his staff, willing the silence to engulf him, until he heard only his heartbeats. He couldn’t control it and anxiety refused to let him concentrate. Cursing his weakness, he turned and walked to the rescue center.
His staff announced him as he walked up to the hanger door and the stricken looks on the technician’s faces told him all he needed to know. “It’s my father,” he said.
Ferg Grishom nodded. “Yeah, Otto. It’s your dad. We don’t know how bad it is now, but we’ll have him back in—” he looked at the chrono, “—eight ticks. He’ll be going directly to the clinic for stabilization.”
“What is it?” he asked.
Ferg looked to Nancy van Danke who was sitting at the terminal. “Box fish.”
“He’s still alive, Otto!” Ferg said. “We’ve got a chance.”
Otto knew of box fish. Everybody in the village knew of them. It had been a while, but even during his lifetime, the box fish had earned its name more than once. The wind rattled the shells on his staff as he stood there in the open door and it brought him back from the edge. “Does my mother know?”
Ferg and Nancy shared a look again, and Ferg nodded. “Yeah, we’ll send the bird back out to pick her up as soon as it drops off your father at the clinic.”
Nancy glanced at something on her terminal. “ETA seven ticks, Otto. You might want to wait...”
Otto had already turned and was walking toward the clinic’s pad. It was only a few meters away from the hanger. Already he could see the trauma team gathering just inside the big plexi-steel door, watching for the air ambulance. As he walked up to the door, the head trauma tech started to wave him off, but Sally Mayers shook her head. She pointed to a place out of the direct line of fire and offered a tentative smile.
Otto put his hand in his pocket and a bit of wood nestled against his fingers. He wrapped his hand around it, and turned, leaning on his staff, squinting into the breeze and the glare. His staff tinkled gently in the breeze and his heart beat loudly in his ears. He pulled a piece of wood from his pocket and looked down to see the thick-bodied and tapered shape of a polar bear. He wrapped his fingers around it, thinking of how much strength his father would need to deal with toxins racing through his system.
The air-rescue flitter streaked over the headland on a direct path for the clinic’s pad, slipping its nose up in a controlled stall and dropping delicately onto the composite decking. Doors opened and people ran. Otto stood as if in the center of a maelstrom and let it wash around, over, and through him. His heart had time to beat eight times, completely and gloriously, before the gurney carrying the twitching shape that was his father started back towards him.
“Father.” Otto spoke, before the gurney even reached him.
Richard’s open eyes stared at the sky as his body twitched. He raised a hand, awkward under the binding that kept him from falling off, as if to touch his son.
Otto stepped forward, slipped the bear into outstretched hand which closed on it even as the medtechs raced past him. Even as the air-rescue lifted off again. Even as the plexi-steel doors sighed closed with a clack.
Otto stood alone in the aftermath. He turned to face the clinic and spoke into the sudden void. “I love you, Father. Be strong.”
There was no one left to hear him. He stood there, waiting, letting the wind tell him stories. The technicians needed room to work and the ambulance would be returning with his mother soon. He waited for her.
It seemed like only heartbeats before the heavy flitter landed again and his mother jumped down from the door, her deck boots still wet with fish slime and her jacket open. She spotted Otto and took his arm wordlessly, as they both walked into the clinic.
They stepped into a tornado of information. “Rachel, he’s alive. We’ve sedated him, and dosed him with acetylcholine inhibitors to try to slow the neural collapse. We got him very quickly.”
“Thank you, can I see him?”
A medtech ushered them to the treatment cube where Richard was already encased in a diagnostic and treatment pod. The red warning lights were strobing on five of the six tell-tales and a half dozen medical people buzzed around like angry hornets. Otto stepped back out of the way. He focused on remembering his father, cool and strong, walking the tide line on Sandy Long.
His mother made a small sound in her throat and stood with her hands thrust deep into her pockets, but standing so close to Otto, he could feel the vibrations from her pounding heart. Together they stood, mute witness to the event unfolding, caught in the moment like images in a strobe. One by one, the red strobes turned to amber, until only one remained an angry, frightening red.
The medical staff came and pulled the drapes around the cube and, with solicitous noises, escorted Rachel and Otto to a small room with a couch and several chairs. Alan Thomas was there waiting, and he held out his hands to Rachel who squeezed them and took a long quivering breath.
&nbs
p; One of the medical people followed them in and briefed them. Words like “stable,” and “resting,” and “time,” were used a lot. Otto could sense the woman’s unease, even as she tried to be comforting. Eventually, she ran out of words and looked to Alan.
“Come on, you two. He needs to sleep now. There’s nothing you can do here. Let’s go to the cottage and take it easy, huh?”
“Richard is under sedation and we will not wake him until at least tomorrow,” the medtech said. “The medications we’ve developed in the last ten stanyers are really quite effective, but they need time to work.”
Otto tasted the comforting lie in the air like smoke, but he didn’t press the woman. He nodded to Alan, and started out of the building, his staff thunking on the floor and rattling as he walked. His mother—head up, dry eyed, and scared—walked with him. Alan walked on her other side, but she took Otto’s arm and walked slowly and steadily all the way back to the cottage without speaking.
At the kitchen door, Rachel turned to Alan. “Thank you, Alan. We’ll be fine here.”
Alan looked from one to the other. “I can have somebody stay with you.”
“That’s not necessary, but thank you. Otto and I can cope for now.”
Otto released the latch on the kitchen door and opened it for her, providing the escape path into the house. He stood his staff beside the door. “They’ll let us know. And we’ll go back in the morning.”
Alan, recognizing the dismissal, nodded. “Call me. Anytime.”
Otto nodded and stepped into the kitchen. His mother was going through her normal tea making ritual, taking comfort in the familiar and solace from the routine that let her focus on making the tea. She still wore her fish boots and parka. Otto helped her slip off the heavy coat then hung it on the peg behind the door with his own.
When the tea was ready, they sat together at the table and sipped without speaking. There were no words needed. It wasn’t as if they were waiting, either, more like keeping each other company. .
Finally, Rachel looked up at him. “I’m going to go lay down, Otto.” She stood and left the kitchen. He heard her bedroom door latch, and the bed squeak as she crawled into it.
South Coast (Shaman's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) Page 17