Axler, James - Deathlands 66 - Separation

by Separation [lit]

  The see boss was subdued as they took the treasure back to the ville, where Sineta showed it to her father, and the treachery of Elias and Chan was revealed. Barras was dismissive of the now-chilled bandits, glad only to see the treasure recovered in time for the exodus.

  It was only a few hours before the baron flew to join his ancestors.

  IN THE DAYS that followed the death of the baron, the preparations for the journey to the whitelands were subdued. Sineta assumed the baron's role in total, and Markos backed her in a public address in which he condemned his brother for his hypocrisy. He also stated that he found it hard to agree wholeheartedly with leaving the island of Pilatu, but would back Sineta one hundred percent. His personal views could not come before the only viable future the Pilatans could have. As he spoke, Mildred could see that he was a troubled soul, but he had resisted all attempts she had made to see him and talk to him about what had happened, and about their relationship—such as it had been.

  Sineta and Mildred did, however, speak about marriage. The baron's daughter had met Markos to discuss her father's notion of marrying either the sec boss or the charismatic Elias.

  Before Sineta had a chance to speak, the sec boss had sardonically pointed out that the latter had been a very bad call, and as for the notion of his marrying her, well, that had been at the instigation of his brother, who had wished to use him as a political tool. The idea of marrying for the pursuit of power was one that he found distasteful and, with all respect to the new baron, he would be only too glad if the subject was never again raised.

  So work continued. The deaths of Elias and Chan had shown the divisions between the peoples of Pilatu as something of an artificial divide and even the most hardened of separatists had worked harder to prepare for the exodus. Their views remained unchanged, but they would fight for their beliefs when the Pilatans had gained a new homeland that was more fertile and able to support them.

  The boats were finished and loaded. The adobe homes were stripped of all but the barest last minute essentials. The animals were loaded during the final day, and the night was given to muted celebrations. Muted because of the arduous journey ahead. Muted because the islanders were sad to be leaving their home after so many generations. And yet there was a mood of optimism engendered by the gaining of the treasure—which would provide valuable jack and barter in the, to them, new world—and by the accession of a new baron who would prove to be strong. Barras had been a good man, but of necessity his long illness and decline had left the ville in limbo for some while.

  On the morrow, the journey would begin: but before this there were still matters to be addressed.

  DEAN HAD BEEN keeping his head down and getting on with the work allotted to him, yet he had obviously been preoccupied. Ryan had tried to talk to him, but the youngster had been reticent to speak to his father. Doc had also tried. He had always been able to converse with the youth; even he could get little more from him than a vague admission that something had been troubling him.

  Krysty had been able to tell for some while that there was a matter weighing heavily on Dean's mind. Yet she could also tell that he wasn't yet ready to talk about it. Until now, that is…

  Dean was sitting at the back of the adobe dwelling they had called home for the past few weeks, staring out into the night. He had crept away from the celebrations in the center of the ville and was staring up at the sky, so preoccupied that he didn't hear Krysty approach. He started when she spoke.

  "You want to watch that. It could be dangerous," she commented, seating herself beside him.

  "Sorry…1 guess I was thinking," he replied.

  Krysty sucked in her breath. "Oh, that's dangerous, too much thinking. Especially when it cuts you off from everyone. Mebbe it's best then to share the thoughts, make them seem less heavy?"

  "I don't know," Dean said nervously, scraping the ground with his boot. "It sounds kind of stupe to me, so mebbe you'll think I've gone as crazy as Doc if I tell you."

  Krysty laughed. "I'm not sure if that's even possible, but tell me anyway. It won't go any further and it may just help."

  "Okay. Here goes…" With which he began to tell her about the dreams he'd had since the mat-trans jump. "They seem— Hot pipe, it seems like sometimes the dreams are real and this is the dream. And that feels really weird. And that's not all…"

  Krysty watched closely. Dean was on the verge of saying something important but was having trouble framing the right words. Finally they came, and they were profoundly shocking.

  "Sometimes it feels to me like Rona's still alive and that I have to find her. That it's some kind of message. And being here is a part of that, 'cause I've seen what it's like to have family and to belong."

  "And you don't feel that we're your family and that you belong with us?"

  "No, yes, I mean—" Dean stuttered. Pausing to take a deep breath, he began again. "You, Dad, Doc, Jak— all of you are family. But it's different with Rona. I was with her from when I was small. I didn't even know my dad until after I was taken from the Brody school. That time before I was only just getting to know him… all of you. But I don't belong, any more than any of us belong. Not like Mildred does with these people."

  "But, sweetheart, Mildred's chosen to go with us and to stay with us, once we reach the mainland. She's decided that she belongs more with us, despite any racial or cultural heritage."

  Dean, who had been watching closely, had a notion that Mildred's decision was based on something a little more personal than Krysty would have him believe, but said nothing of this. Instead he said, "Yeah, but she's had a chance to make that choice. Until I find out what happened to Rona, then I'll never know."

  Krysty chewed her lip. "I thought Sharona had rad sickness—cancer—and was buying the farm. That was why she entrusted you—"

  "I know, I know," Dean interrupted. "But I've just got this feeling that she's still alive. A feeling that I can't explain. But I know I've got to do something about it." Krysty frowned. "Okay. When you've got to do something like this, then you've just got to…but wait until we get over the water and promise me you'll talk about it with your father."

  Dean nodded. "Yeah. I know I've got to talk to him about it. And I promise I'll do it then."

  MILDRED WAS ALSO FACING a testing time in talk. During the evening's activity, Markos had approached her to ask if they could talk. She had arranged to meet him later at Sineta's quarters and was waiting with some apprehension when he arrived.

  "It is good of you to meet with me," he said stiffly as she admitted him to the house.

  "Is it really that hard to talk, especially as you're the one who asked?" she replied with warmth.

  He smiled wryly. "No and yes in equal measure. I feel as much of a fool as my brother called me for being sucked into his schemes, and yet I have no one now that I can turn to for advice."

  "And you want advice from me?"

  He shrugged. "Perhaps. I still feel uneasy about traveling to the whitelands and mixing with the pale ones…and yet I know this is foolish, as my own brother and Elias have shown that treachery and deceit are not endemic to color. I have also seen your friends, worked beside them now, and know them to be good people. But I cannot shake that feeling that is within me."

  Mildred took his hand and led him to the table in the corner of the room, seating him on one of the chairs while she took another.

  "You know, you shouldn't be too hard on yourself about this," she began. "You've had a lifetime of your brother telling you something, and you know, he wasn't without a point."

  "You can say this?" Markos asked, surprised.

  "Look, there are things about me that you can never know and would never understand…things that you would find hard to believe. But, for whatever reason, I know what it was like before skydark came across the world. And there were plenty of reasons for black people to feel the way that you and the other separatists feel about the whitelands. There was a time when we couldn't use the same restaurants
, the same latrines, the same wags. Couldn't have equal housing or equal jack, and were treated like pieces of shit. Things began to change, but it was forced, and there were those who felt that it would always be that way. They wanted a separate land for blacks, a separate nation. They were right.

  It was forced. But the point is that with each generation it got a little less forced on each side, and eventually people would have seen no difference. Just because it doesn't happen in the span of your lifetime doesn't mean it'll never happen. You fight for your sons and daughters as much as yourself.

  "And things have changed since the nukecaust. Yeah, I've seen people get picked on because they're a different color, a different race, but also because they're from a different ville or are muties and so different. That's what it's all about—difference. It doesn't matter what they make that difference, it's still about fear of being something else. Just like you've got the fear of the pale ones being different. Makes you the same as them.

  "But now, it's about your ville rather than your color. People live together and pull together to survive. No one gives a damn that you're black if you're helping them bring in the harvest or pulling them out of a hole. As long as none of you buy the farm, that's all that matters."

  Markos pondered this. Finally he said, "I wish I could truly understand that. I can see the sense of your words, but there is a part of me that questions their veracity. These are different things."

  "Oh, yeah, they're that, all right," Mildred replied. "But you'll see and soon enough." She fell silent for a moment, thinking of J.B. and the rest of the companions, people she would pull with and chill for. "Yeah, you'll see soon enough," she reiterated.

  Chapter Twelve

  Exodus began shortly after daybreak with the Pilatans gathering the last of their belongings and moving away from their old homes and toward the inlet bay, where the boats lay waiting with their cargoes of animals and belongings, the former quietened by fear and a lack of understanding about what was about to occur. There was a subdued, melancholy air about the islanders as they loaded the boats and prepared to cast off.

  Sineta and Markos would be the last to board their vessels, the sec boss because he was determined to oversee the final moments of the exodus and make things run as smoothly as possible and the new baron because she felt a great sadness at departure and a sudden desire to stay, even if it was on her own.

  Krysty, on the same boat as Mildred, observed Sineta as she cast a last look around.

  "Perhaps you should go and be with her," she whispered to Mildred.

  Mildred shook her head. "No, she needs to be alone right now. I can understand that. After all, she'll go down in Pilatan history as the woman who led them away from their homeland. It must be kind of hard to know that posterity will label you that way, even if you had no choice."

  "It could be a good thing, in the long run as well as the short," Krysty countered.

  Mildred smiled. "Yeah, but would you think of that right now?"

  Meanwhile, on the shore, the last of the islanders had boarded their boats, which were moored off a wooden pier built out into the depths of the inlet. Everyone and every animal had walked the long, planked pier to board the boats, which were then anchored a short distance away to allow the next boat to tie up and finish loading. It was this changeover that took time, and so it was past noon by the time that all the boats were finally ready. The islanders had never had to deal with more than two boats at a time during the days spent fishing, and so were ill equipped for a mass exodus. The waiting had increased the air of melancholy that hung like a pall over the small fleet. As Sineta and Markos—the last two Pilatans on the island—took the walk down the wooden pier to board their boat, it was as though they were walking into a fog that threatened to envelop them.

  The last boat cast off from the pier and, under the direction of a Pilatan fisherman and the sec boss, took the lead as the other boats lifted their anchors and began to heave to and follow in the wake of the craft that was to take them away to a new life.

  Krysty, Mildred and Jak were on one boat. Ryan and Dean on another. J.B. and Doc traveled on the lead boat. They hadn't been split as a deliberate decision. Places on the boats were allocated according to a draw that had been made in the ville square the night before. Its purpose was to alleviate any possibility of argument among the islanders; the only exceptions had been the fishermen, who were to pilot the boats and so were exempt from any random process.

  Although a fair means in one way, it also divided families and friends who would have wished to face the perils of the sea together. The apprehension this lottery engendered did little to detract from the general air of depression that lay over the traveling party.

  The sea was calm as they headed out into the open water before turning to round the island and make their way toward the mainland. There was a strong breeze that caught in the patched sails of the crafts, billowing the material and driving the heavily laden boats through the water. Ryan peered over the side of his craft as he joined the ship's pilot, Orthos, at the tiller.

  "Moving low in the water," the one-eyed man commented in a neutral tone.

  The sailor fixed him with a stare that probed for any meaning, then spoke in an equally neutral tone.

  "It is true that we sail close to the waves, but there is yet enough buoyancy to keep us afloat."

  Ryan returned the sailor's stare. "I wasn't commenting on your people's abilities as seamen, but I'm on this ship, too, and it's not that long ago that my people were caught in the white water."

  Orthos was silent for a moment, pondering his answer. "Very well, I will agree with you that we are too low in the water for my liking. Nothing must be said, as panic would be a greater enemy, but I feel that we have too much in too few ships. If only they had given us more time…"

  Ryan nodded. "Do you reckon we'll be able to ride out the roughs?"

  Orthos gave a small shrug, his face still impassive. "Trust, hope and faith are all I can offer, but a helping hand from you and your son if things get rough would not go amiss. You have both experienced the waters and you could be of use."

  Ryan nodded; words were unnecessary. He turned to find Dean and to prepare him for what may lay ahead.

  However, not all the sailors were as forthcoming as Orthos. For on another boat, Doc had also drawn the matter to the attention of the Armorer.

  "John Barrymore, I feel it necessary that you should perhaps glance over the side of this craft," the old man said in passing. J.B. did so, whistling softly to himself when he saw how low in the water they sat. Glancing around, he could see that the sailor on the tiller was a man unknown to him.

  "Figure I should mention this, Doc?" The old man shrugged. "They would be poor sailors if they were not already aware of the matter. I fear they were given little choice in the matter, egged on by the exegeses of time."

  "Yeah," J.B. replied slowly. "I think I know what you mean and you're right. But no one else seems to be aware," he added, looking at his fellow passengers, who were either too wrapped in their own sadness at leaving their home or too busy being seasick to give the matter much thought. "I figure that at least some of us should be prepared for any trouble when we hit the rough sea. Let's go and have a few words with the guy on the tiller."

  "I would concur with that," Doc muttered, following the Armorer as he threaded his way through the crowded interior of the boat.

  As J.B. approached, he knew that it was going to be difficult. He now recognized the man as one of the hostile separatists who had been on the tree-felling parties with the companions.

  "What do you want, pale one?" the sailor asked, a malevolence in his voice that he barely disguised.

  J.B. held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, I only wanted to say that I've noticed that we're a little low on the waterline. If there's any problems, we want to help," he continued, indicating both Doc and himself.

  The sailor sneered. "We are able to handle our own problems without
help from outsiders."

  J.B. was on the point of answering, but bit hard on his tongue. Perhaps things would be different if there was actually a crisis, but arguing now would achieve nothing on either side.

  "Okay, have it your way," he said simply, turning away.

  THE FIRST FEW HOURS of the voyage were little more than tedious as the convoy of Pilatan ships sailed out and around the island on a flat sea. Following the lead boat, which was piloted by Sineta and Markos under the direction of the island's most experienced sailor, the convoy proscribed an arc that took them out beyond any reefs that may lay in wait to snag a boat that sat lower than usual in the water. The heat of the afternoon sun and the glassy surface of the water made for a smooth passage, and the people on the boats were lulled into an almost comatose state by the calm.

  That changed with a shocking suddenness as the convoy rounded the island and hit the stretch of water that lay between Pilatu and the mainland.

  The calm, glassy surface suddenly gave way to white water that rose up as the crosscurrents of the channel churned the water and pulled beneath the surface.

  As the lead boat hit the first conflicting current, it was as though the prow had slammed into concrete. The timbers moaned and protested as the force of the water hit them; and the rigging moaned, wind dropping from sails that were suddenly flung out of alignment. All around the island, the rigging had been angled to catch the wind, but now it was proving impossible. The motors fitted to each boat would have to be brought into play. They had remained unused up to this point as each skipper had wanted to save the fuel and resultant horsepower until necessity dictated. That time had now arrived.