The Silver Ship and the Sea

by Brenda Cooper

  His voice was shaky, and I wanted to hold him, but I didn’t want anything physical to break his thoughts. His pain was too deep for me to touch away. When he fell silent a moment, I whispered, “Do you remember sitting in the park?”

  “I sensed you all, you and Kayleen and Bryan, and Tom once. Bryan stayed with us.” Finally, he looked at me. “Is everyone else okay?”

  Okay? Of course not. But I nodded and fetched him a glass of water. His lips looked dry and chapped and his eyes were the wrong shade of black, like thunderclouds about to pour rain and fire. I watched him take a long, slow drink. Only when he handed me back the empty glass did I say, “No one died here. Denise broke her wrist and Hilario’s face got banged up by a falling roof tile. Gianna hurt her ankle. I heard the hospital was full, but they released most people. We were lucky.”

  “Were we?”

  A knock at the door saved me from answering. I dragged myself from Joseph’s side. Something as normal as answering the door seemed impossible, like walking through waves. As I pushed the door open, the widening crack spilled light and birdsong into the short hallway. The happy normal sounds scraped at my confused grief; I wanted the world to be silent and respectful.

  Bryan stood just outside, his bulk filling much of the doorway. He folded me into his arms. He whispered into my hair. “I’m so sorry. I would have come sooner, but I couldn’t.” I didn’t answer, just stood in his arms, drawing strength from his bulk, his steadiness. After a minute, he asked, “How’s Joseph?”

  “He’s awake. Come in.” I stepped back and Bryan passed me, heading for Joseph’s room. The empty place he left in the doorway filled with Kayleen, damp from a shower, but not fresh; her eyes drooped and she moved slowly. “Sorry I just couldn’t come earlier. Nava made me and Mom run tests on the data nets until after midnight.” She pulled out a kitchen chair, sat down with a thump, and started combing her hair with her fingers, watching me. “You don’t look like you slept. You look exhausted. Just a minute, I’ll find us some breakfast. How’s Joseph?”

  Seeing her lifted my spirits a tiny bit. “He’s…he’s hurting.”

  Kayleen headed for Joseph’s room, still trying to untangle her hair. I followed her, so the four of us crowded into the small square room. There was only one chair, which Bryan filled, so Kayleen sat on my rumpled bedding and I perched on the narrow bed by Joseph, who had turned back to the wall.

  Bryan’s voice was low and even. “…need to talk. I know you don’t want to, I know it’s not a good time yet, but Kayleen and I are worried. We need to come up with a plan for you two.”

  I blinked, startled. That was my job. I hadn’t been doing it. I didn’t want to do it, not yet. I put a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “He’s right. We need to plan.” There would be too much to do to let anyone grieve long. Nava wasn’t one to wait on emotions, and certainly not on ours. The town couldn’t wait. A fresh wave of loss washed through me. Therese and Steven. “We’ll probably all be called to work today.”

  Joseph groaned and whispered, “I can’t.”

  “We’ll be okay.” I rubbed his shoulders lightly. “We’ll manage. They need us, and I’m sure we can do something easy.”

  Joseph burrowed into the pillow. “How come you’re always so positive?” he mumbled.

  Bryan twisted his hands in his lap. “She’s made that way. Now, come get some breakfast. You need to eat.”

  Joseph pulled the covers tighter. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Do I have to carry you?” Bryan asked. He glanced at Kayleen and me. “You two, go on. Get something easy for him to eat. We’ll be in.”

  I smiled at Bryan. “Thanks for being here.”

  Kayleen found four small red apples in a basket on the counter. I dug goat milk out of the refrigerator and a few thick slices of bread, which we’d have to eat dry since the butter container had fallen from the counter in the quake and lay in greasy shards under the corner of the cabinets. We finished just as Bryan and Joseph came down the hallway and settled into chairs. Joseph’s hands shook in his lap and he didn’t reach for any of the food. I understood, but took a slice of apple, hoping to coax him into eating.

  Kayleen drummed her fingers on the table. “So, Bryan told you we’ve been talking. You’re almost an adult, Chelo. You will be in a year. Surely you can make a case for living by yourselves now. It would solve the problem of where you’re going to go. There are plenty of empty houses.”

  We’d daydreamed about the four of us living together when we grew up. Why not now? Who’d want us, anyway? I could be completely responsible for Joseph, protect him. A small sliver of hope rose inside me.

  Kayleen continued, her words rushing out like cool spring wind. “And maybe we can live there, too. I know Paloma would let me, at least sometimes. We could practice together without having to go outside. Joseph and I could explore the data fields more, maybe I could learn to handle more than two data streams.” She leaned forward, her blue eyes bright with her idea. “We could have our long talks and not worry about being interrupted. Bryan’s family can’t stand him. I bet they’d let him go.”

  Bryan looked less willing to believe in good fortune. “Will Town Council let us?”

  “Not if Nava is in charge.” I mused out loud, my head clicking through possibilities slowly. “She’d never allow it. She likes us where she can watch us. They let us be friends, but remember, they split four of us across three guilds on purpose, and gave two to the roamers, to keep us separate.” But what would the colony really do about leadership? Grief kept my head from forming questions as easily as usual.

  Bryan added, “Nava runs the logistics guild. Exactly the skills we’ll need to rebuild the town.”

  Kayleen held a slice of apple near Joseph’s hand. “I know you don’t want to eat. But you need to. Please?”

  Joseph ignored her, as if he couldn’t respond. I watched with growing alarm. He was never rude, never silent, never all the things he was that moment.

  After a moment, Kayleen set the apple down and asked him, “Hey, what do you think about us living together?”

  His voice shook. “I’m not going.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “Back into the data streams. I can’t go there.”

  I bit back an immediate reply. He had to. He’d discovered his talent when he was six. I could still see it clearly—it was the first moment it really sank in that we were more powerful, in some ways, than even the adults around us.

  I was watching him in the playground at the park. His attention drifted, so he didn’t notice the ball as I threw it to him. Then he stiffened and his eyes widened so he looked puzzled and excited and scared all at once. He said, “Something’s trying to come in.”

  “What?” I asked him.

  “Demons.” His eyes rolled in his head and he sat down, going completely still, frightening me. It was as if he’d died right there, gone so far away that I might as well not have been there. A full minute later the boundary bell rang the high sharp tones for animal intrusion. It was a pack of demon dogs; fast four-legged animals with sharp teeth. Gi Lin and Steven scared the pack off, but from that day forward, Joseph’s primary play was listening to the vast wireless networks that surrounded us. I was deaf to them, but Kayleen quickly learned to join him in data-play.

  How to deal with Joseph’s fear? He fought commands; I’d circle back to his data connection later. “What about living together?”

  “Who has to approve it?” Bryan asked me.

  “Probably Nava. I suppose we could petition Town Council. Their attention won’t be available to us until the mess is cleaned up. I’ll watch for a good opening.”

  Kayleen waved the apple in front of Joseph again, and he grunted and pushed himself to standing. His knees buckled and he crumpled, limp, his arms splayed across the floor, his cheek turned to one side. He moaned softly.

  I felt as weak as Joseph, scared for him all over again, like in the park.

  Bryan scooped him off
the floor, and carried him back to bed. I followed, my breath catching in my throat. Joseph looked small and vulnerable in Bryan’s arms. Had something serious broken in him? How would we know?

  Kayleen brought the apples and a glass of water and set them on Joseph’s bedside table. As Bryan covered him with a blanket, Joseph looked gratefully at him. Yesterday morning, or any other morning, Joseph would have turned beet-red at being carried.

  Bryan smiled down at him. “Go on, little brother, sleep. We’ll try to decide what to do.”

  Joseph nodded and rolled on his side, looking away from us at the blank wall beside his bed.

  The three of us headed back to our interrupted breakfast. “Why can’t he stand?” Bryan asked the question before I got it out of my mouth.

  Kayleen finished her milk and set the glass down. “Sometimes, when I try to handle too much data, it exhausts me, like it wears out my nervous system. Joseph was seriously immersed, right? Then jerked out? It might take a day or two before his body does what he wants it to.”

  Another knock on the door.

  I went to answer it, followed by Kayleen and Bryan.

  Nava stood there. Her hair was wet from a shower and she wore clean coveralls and a light shirt. Dark circles spread under her eyes. “Good,” she said, “you’re all here.” She paused, then drew herself up. “I know you’re hurting, but so are we all. We lost two greenhouses, one storeroom is missing its roof, and only half the houses we’ve checked so far are safe to live in.” Nava stopped and looked at us, as if gauging our reactions. “Gianna thinks there’s a storm coming. I’m going to need you all this morning. I’ll need everyone.” She looked down, her fists balled by her side.

  A deep need to be moving, doing, seemed to shoot out from Nava, as if she were a comet about to explode against some solid object. I wanted her to leave. She was looking at me. “I know you feel bad, we all do. We just”—she shrugged—“there’s no time.”

  “Of course,” I said. “The three of us will come and help. But Joseph’s asleep; he’s exhausted, he can hardly walk. He needs to rest.”

  Nava frowned, as if she wanted to contradict me, but nodded. “Should I send over a doctor?”

  Joseph would hate that. “I think he just needs rest. Please, I want to work nearby, where I can check on him.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” She glanced at Kayleen. “That means we’ll need you to work with Paloma. Be at the amphitheater in twenty minutes. All three of you.”

  “All right,” Kayleen piped up from behind me. “We’ll be there.”

  Nava turned quickly on her heel, heading for the neighbors’ house.

  “She is not happy about Joseph being out of the nets,” Kayleen said, shaking her head.

  Bryan grunted. “She could have at least asked how you were before telling you what to do.”

  We finished breakfast. None of it had any flavor.

  The gather-bell rang. I checked on Joseph while the other two picked up the kitchen. He breathed softly and evenly, clearly asleep, although soft little whimpering sounds rose from deep in his throat. I kissed his smooth cheek and straightened the blankets around him.

  We held hands as we walked over to the park. The air felt heavy and damp, pregnant with electricity and rain. Only the early crops had been harvested; the third hay cutting, the squash, and the second crop of beans were still in the fields. Some of what we’d already harvested had probably been damaged, and rain might damage more. We never got our disasters in ones. Always twos or threes or fours.

  The crowd gathering at the amphitheater talked quietly, looking somber. Family groups walked together, parents holding children’s hands. I often helped at the elementary school, and some of the children waved at us, but most adults ignored us. We sat near the top, like yesterday, Bryan and Kayleen on either side of me.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. Startled, I looked up into Jenna’s single steel-gray eye. Her mangled face was weathered, her skin dark from living outside. Her breath smelled like twintree fruit. She said, “Take care of your little brother. His pain is huge.” She didn’t wait for a reply but let go of my shoulder, backing up, sitting by herself in a shadowed corner. She never came into town, never responded to the gather-bell. I hoped she would be all right in the crowd.

  “What’s she doing here?” Kayleen whispered.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. How does she know about Joseph?”

  Jenna lived outside of town but inside the boundaries. People chased her when I was a little girl, as if she were some kind of animal, trying to kill her. She outfoxed them; she killed a few paw-cats and caught two of the long yellow snakes, which she brought, one by one as she made her kills, into the middle of the park and left for people to find. We modeled our own acceptance on hers. Being useful.

  Jenna was the only adult example we had of what we might become, even if she was broken and barely tolerated and hard to talk to. Jenna was wary of everyone, even us. Still, we’d puzzled out some of our abilities by watching her. She had Bryan’s strength, although she was tall and wiry, less boxy, and she ran like Kayleen, fast and agile.

  Kayleen chewed on her lower lip. “Do you think anyone besides us ever talks to her, or she to them? Does she have any friends at all?”

  Down on the stage, Nava cleared her throat into the microphone. The crowd quieted. “Good morning. I believe everyone knows most of the news, but I will repeat it officially for the record.

  “The earthquake yesterday registered nine point five, the second worst in our history.” She swept her gaze across the whole of the amphitheater. “First, to acknowledge our losses. Ten people, including Therese and Steven, died in a rock fall on the High Road above us.” Nava hesitated, and it seemed that her grief and the crowd’s grief and the knot in my stomach all bound together into something palpable, something with weight. I blinked, trying not to cry. Bryan squeezed my hand and Kayleen put an arm across my shoulders, steadying me. Nava continued. “We will mourn them together. Tomorrow night. They were our leaders, and would have wanted us to ensure our safety first. We will do that.

  “We’ve started assessing damage. Nearly everything can be fixed; what cannot be fixed can be replaced. We made lists of tasks.” Nava pointed to a table with lists set out on it. “Some of you have been preassigned based on skills. Others may choose spots to fill in. We need to work hard, even in our grief and pain. We need to beat the storm. Let us work together today, and eat together tonight, and work again tomorrow, and then we will mourn our dead.”

  The crowd moved down, subdued, and began checking and completing lists, then drifted across the park or across streets or toward warehouses to begin the work. We were almost the last in line. I looked behind me for Jenna, but she had disappeared.

  On the lists, Kayleen’s name was coupled with Paloma’s, to keep helping with data readings, assessing the overall damage to the network. Bryan’s assignment was to help repair hebra barns. My name had been scratched out of the list of people moving things from the damaged storehouse and written into the child-care list. So Nava had made sure I’d be near enough to check on Joseph. I closed my eyes, weak and swaying. Briefly grateful to Nava.

  There were nearly sixty children between two and about ten years old, and four of us to manage them all. The kids were uncommonly subdued, moving in quiet groups, holding hands, whispering to each other, crying easily. We started in the park, to keep the buildings free for inspection and repairs. Heat and damp and wind drove us to the bowl of the amphitheater to organize tag games for the bigger kids. I sang songs with the littler ones, wiped noses, and comforted.

  Three hours passed before I dug myself free to check on Joseph. The sky brooded above me as I walked home, the clouds a sickly yellow-green that blocked so much light it looked like early evening.

  It was just past lunch.

  Joseph sat up in his bed, back against the wall, his legs curled up to his chest, echoing one of the postures he used for data communing. Dried tear tracks
showed on his cheeks. He offered a slight smile when I came in the door. “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Like you look.”

  I smiled at that. “I’ve got child-care duty. Want to come help me with the kids?”

  He looked down for a moment before meeting my eyes. “I got up to get water. I was so weak I almost fell again. Nothing hurts. I want to stay here, sleep.”

  I frowned. “Jenna suggested we watch out for you. But that’s all she said.”

  “She came to town?” Joseph’s eyes widened.

  “To the meeting this morning. No one stopped her.”

  “Wow. Why me? Didn’t she ask about us all?”

  I shook my head. “Just you. But she could see us, after all. It’s going to storm something fierce.” During the last big storm, Joseph and I had stood outside in the lashing rain, leaning into the wind, laughing at the sheer power of it. “Are you sure you can’t go out?”

  He nodded.

  “The funeral is tomorrow evening. Will you go with me?”

  He nodded, looking miserable, and I knelt over him and hugged him. “I love you, little brother. We’ll get through this.” Against my better judgment, I added, “Maybe they will let us stay by ourselves.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “Do you really think so?”

  I was always honest with him. “No, not really. Not if Nava’s in charge.”

  “She’ll probably figure out the worst possible place for us, or split us up.”

  “It won’t be that bad. She needs us functional, especially you.” I looked around. Because we’d been Therese and Steven’s, we lived in the town leader’s house. “We’ll have to move somewhere. If they don’t let us stay alone, maybe we can hook up with Paloma and Kayleen. Look, I’ve got to go.”