“Look, Papa! A mouta!” Sarah held up her open palm.
For an instant Otto saw the characteristic flattened shape of a fish laying in her palm. Just as he reached for it, the true shape of the driftwood reasserted itself. He blinked.
“Yes,” he said. “A mouta, indeed.”
Sarah tucked the bit of wood into her gathering bag and continued walking down the beach. “Come on, Papa. Time and tide wait for no one, as you’re so fond of tellin’ me.”
He struck off after her, following the scuffed footprints in the loose sand until he’d almost caught up with her. “I’ll speak to the ombudsman tonight,” he said. “Try to get you a waiver.”
Sarah stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Did you say something, Papa?”
Otto gazed at his daughter. “No. Nothing. Keep looking.”
He sighed again and followed after her, trying to focus on the task at hand. As they turned around for the trip back down the beach he knew he’d have little but firewood in his gather sack. It would have to be enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Cape Grace: January 3, 2346
OTTO KRUGG STARED AT Ed Comstock across the administrator’s desk. He tried to breathe slowly, to approach the situation rationally. “You won’t help,” he said.
“Otto, I can’t help. There’s nothing that I can do.”
“You could accept the request.”
Comstock brushed his hand down the back of his gray-haired skull. He took a deep breath and blew it out. “Even if I did, it would get overturned at the Inlet.”
“How do you know?”
Ed pressed his hands palm down on the desk. He tapped the fingers of his right hand with each point. “First, the contract uses specific, gendered language. The son—and only the firstborn son—of the shaman is the shaman. Second, it’s been tried a dozen times just in the last half century. The arbitrators side with the company. Every. Single. Time. Third, you can’t even prove you have this gift. How can you prove she does?”
Otto shook his head. “No. I’ve done my homework on this, Ed. Every other attempt has tried to get the rule overturned on the basis of sexual discrimination and due process.”
“Exactly. Everybody agrees it’s overly restrictive. If this were a Confederation planet, it would have been tossed out on the first go. It’s not a Confederation planet. The St. Cloud Combine sets the rules here. You can either accept the rules, try to convince the lawyers in Dunsany to change the rules, or leave. So far, nobody’s been able to get the lawyers to budge.”
“I don’t want to overturn the rule. I want to use it.”
Comstock stopped shaking his head and looked at him hard, his head tilted as if he hadn’t heard right. “You want to use it?”
Otto nodded. “I want to get her an exemption based on her gift, not that she’s a girl.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
Otto reached into his pocket and pulled out some whelkies. He slipped them onto the desk. “That’s her work.”
Comstock’s eyes narrowed and he reached out a fingertip to stir the small collection around, almost as if he were afraid to pick them up. “Those are exquisite, Otto. She’s how old?”
“Seventeen in May. In another year she’ll have to find a job or leave.”
Comstock’s head nodded slowly. “Yeah. Or get married.”
Otto’s fists tightened. “She’s a shaman, not some chattel to be bartered off.”
Comstock winced. “It’s the same rule for boys, Otto. Once you turn eighteen, you either go to work or get off the rock. The only exceptions are dependents of employees.”
“And shamans,” Otto said.
“Yes. And shamans.” Comstock shook his head. “How do you see this exemption working?”
“Some shamans aren’t born with their gift. They come into it late.”
“Like your grandfather?”
“You know about him?”
“Sure. Son of a sheep farmer over on the Eastern Reaches, but he convinced a quorum of shamans to recognize his gift.”
Otto nodded. “That’s where I’m going.”
“Otto, he was a young man and that was decades ago.”
“The process is still in the contract, though, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s there, but your grandfather was also a company employee for five stanyers before he applied.”
Otto nodded, granting the point.
“There’s an easier way. Just have her get a job with the company. She can stay as long as she likes.”
“I’ve been trying. The only job she wants is shaman.” He shook his head. “She has the gift. She shouldn’t be relegated to second-class citizenship because she’s girl.”
“We’re back where we started, Otto. I even agree with you, but I can’t change the contract. You can appeal it up the line, but I can’t change it. I just don’t have the authority.”
Otto ground his teeth in frustration. “All right, then let me apply for an extended dependency exemption.”
“Extended dependency?”
“I can keep her as a dependent until she’s twenty-three.”
Comstock pushed himself back in his seat and scowled across the desk. “She’s not sick or disabled. How do you see that getting through?”
“She’s not prepared for life off St. Cloud. I don’t need a reason. It’s part of the Confederation clauses. She has no marketable skills that the Confederation can use and it buys me some time.”
Comstock’s scowl relaxed a bit and he leaned forward over the desk again. “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I’ve got jobs going begging. I need crews for the boats, sorters on the fish lines.” He pointed to the whelkies. “She can use a knife and I need people on the fillet lines. Hell, I’m short on office staff and messengers.”
“The deal?”
“Let me see if I can get her a job she can do here. Give me a stanyer to get her settled as an employee. She’s too young to work some of the jobs but sixteen is old enough for most of the low skill, low risk, entry level positions.”
“No fishing.”
Comstock nodded. “No fishing.”
“And if you can’t find her a job?”
“If we don’t have her settled by this time next year, I’ll personally recommend the exemption to the Inlet.”
“Why don’t we do the exemption anyway?”
Comstock bit his lip and looked down at his desk. “I’d like her to take these jobs seriously. We lose about ten percent of our young people as it is. I think she’ll find a lot to like here if she applies herself. Leaving the door open to deportation adds a bit of incentive.”
“So you want to leave the threat of deportation open? That’s what you’re saying?” Otto forced his hands to unclench.
“It’s not like that, Otto. You know as well as I do that everybody’s got to find his or her own path. Might be her path is off planet and not here after all. I swear to you, I’ll forward her exemption if she doesn’t find something to keep her legal here.” He leaned forward further. “Mark my words. She’ll be a happy, productive member of our community by this time next stanyer and we won’t have to put that exemption on her record at all.”
“What do you mean, on her record?” Otto asked, momentarily distracted by the odd phrasing.
Comstock took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. “Almost every single kid growing up here on St. Cloud finds a job by the time they’re eighteen. What does that say about the few that don’t?”
“Most of the kids have parents who put them to work on the boats or take them to the plants to work,” Otto said. “I talk to those parents every week.”
“What’s your point?”
“Even when the kid wants to be an astronomer or shuttle pilot,” Otto said.
“They can do that,” Comstock said, frowning. “Who says they can’t?”
“Look up the courses.”
&nb
sp; Comstock’s frown deepened and he tilted his head. “Look up the courses?”
“Yes. Look up the courses on the education administration database.”
To his credit, Comstock started tapping on his keyboard and turned his attention to the display. After a few moments he turned his attention back to Otto. “So? The shuttle pilot courses are there. What’s your point? We always need shuttle pilots.”
“What’s the minimum age to take those courses?”
Comstock looked back at his display and manipulated the interface. “Twenty stanyers. So what?”
Otto shook his head. “So, if you want to be a shuttle pilot, you have to work for the company already.”
“Or go up to the orbital and take them there. These are standard Confederated Planets courses. Anybody can take them anywhere. Every system I know is short on shuttle pilots.”
“My point is that nobody can afford to do that. Fishermen don’t make that many credits and they can’t stop fishing long enough to take the courses. Oh, sure they can take the first few theory courses, but after that they need to fly simulators. Did you happen to notice where the nearest simulator is?”
Comstock dug back into the terminal and frowned. “Margary.”
“Yes. So how is a kid from a fishing village like Cape Grace supposed to do that? His parents work for the consortium—just another way of saying they work for Pirano Fisheries. They make enough to live comfortably but most of these people are third- and fourth-generation fishermen. I suspect you’ll find the same thing with administration and production labor.”
“Well, of course. It’s a good life.”
“So you’ve stacked the deck. It’s worse with shamans because that’s codified in the labor contracts, which everybody has to sign or leave the planet.”
“Unless you’re a shaman,” Comstock said. “Where are you going with this, Otto?”
“You’re trying to paint my daughter as lazy or shiftless if she doesn’t get a job working for the company before her eighteenth birthday. That’s what you meant by ‘putting it on her record,’ isn’t it?”
“It’s easy to find work here, Otto. I’ve got jobs going begging right now that she could do.”
“Except they’re not the jobs she’s suited for.”
Comstock shrugged one shoulder. “It’s a company planet, Otto. There aren’t a lot of jobs here that don’t contribute directly to the company. What would you expect? The problem is that your gift isn’t recognized beyond the atmosphere here.”
“Maybe it should be.”
“Well, then that’s a different conversation and instead of trying to convince me that she should stay, maybe you should be trying to convince her to leave.”
Otto sat back in his chair. He stared at Comstock for several long moments. “You’re right,” he said, the words ashes on his tongue. “See if you can get her a job she likes. If she does, well, I guess I have nothing to worry about.”
“If she doesn’t, I’ll put in the exemption personally, Otto.” He stood and stuck his hand out. “I appreciate what you do for the village and I’ll help you any way I can. You have my word.”
Otto stood and shook the offered hand. “I’ll hold you to that, you know.”
Comstock smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Aram’s Inlet: January 5, 2346
JACK FLANAGAN STARED across the table at Jimmy Pirano, his craggy face stony as a headland. “Why, Jimmy? After all this time. Why?”
Jimmy shook his head and shifted his weight to lean over his coffee cup. “I don’t like it any more than you do, Jack.” He glanced around at the sparse late morning crowd at Barney’s Beanery.
“You still haven’t said why you’re doing it. The South Coast shamans have been a fixture since the early days of the colony.”
“Dammit, Jack. It’s not me. Supposedly it’s coming from the Ole Man. Tony and I think it’s the bean counters.” Jimmy hunched over his coffee and bowed his head.
“What beans are they counting?” Flanagan’s hard words cracked across the table. “Most of the shamans are dependents. They’re married to the company. They’re not leaving. The few that aren’t? You’re going to kick them off the planet? What’s that going to save?”
“Legal fees,” Jimmy said, staring into his coffee cup.
Flanagan flopped against the back of the booth. “Legal fees?”
“Too many grievances. Too many credits.” Jimmy looked up at him and shrugged.
Flanagan’s expression went from wide-eyed surprise to a narrow-eyed glower over the space of a few seconds. “This is about that McIlheny case.”
Jimmy took a sip of coffee. “Yeah. And the Davis woman before that. And the Quinlan girl before her. All the way back to Oswald and Chambers and everybody else who’s filed a grievance. Seems like every season there’s another woman filing a grievance against the company to change the rule.”
“So instead of fixing the rule, they’ve decided to remove it.” Flanagan’s response wasn’t a question.
Jimmy nodded. “That’s what it looks like. The CPJCT adjudicators are not cheap and the company always has to pay the fee.”
Flanagan leaned over the table. “You ever wonder why?”
“I know why,” Jimmy said. “Stiff-necked and short-sighted office boffins don’t want mere workers dictating to them.”
“It’s not going to solve the problem, you know,” Flanagan said.
“Yeah, actually. If you buy the argument that the company is sick of fighting to enforce their charter? If they take away the loophole that allows nondependent adults to stay on planet without being a company employee?” He shrugged again. “That pretty much solves the problem of women wanting to be shamans and filing grievances to stay.”
“So rather than give women the same right as men, they’re going to take that right away from men.”
“That’s the gist of it.” Jimmy took another swig of coffee but it didn’t wash the sour taste from his mouth.
“That can’t be all of it,” Flanagan said, hunkering down over his cup. “The system has worked for decades. Why now?”
“All I know is what they’re telling me, Jack.” Jimmy stared across the table, willing the shaman to believe him. “I swear to you this is none of my doing. I got another warning from home office last week. I believe that the idiots there really think that this adjudication expense is best served by a big boot instead of taking the restriction off the rule.”
Flanagan’s lips pressed into a line. “Can’t you talk to the Ole Man?”
“I got a sternly worded message from him stanyers ago, and I’ve sent him three messages on the family channels. Nothing back yet.” He shifted in his seat and stared down at the table. “It may be that he’s just out of the loop.”
“How old is your father, Jimmy?”
“Too old.” Jimmy took a sip of the cooling coffee and sighed. “He’s running well into his second century. I was born on St. Cloud, but he was running the company when they signed the lease on this place. He left my sister Angela running Umber and moved here to open the first fisheries.”
Flanagan mirrored Jimmy’s posture, leaning over his cup. “He had to have had a hand in establishing the rule.”
“I don’t know the story. He never said how that loophole got formed.” He looked at Flanagan. “You know who the first shaman was?”
Flanagan frowned and his gaze focused somewhere else. “No.” The single syllable stretched across the table and he tilted his head as if it might roll a loose marble into place. “That’s odd. I don’t know. Is it in the company archive?”
Jimmy shrugged. “I keep meaning to look. Why?”
Flanagan frowned, his focus on Jimmy’s face, his jaw tightening. “It just seems strange that the man who must have adopted the rule and created the precedent suddenly wants that rule removed.”
“Maybe it wasn’t him.”
“Come on, Jimmy. Who else could be
calling the shots on this? Nothing happens with this company unless your father approves it.”
“True.” Jimmy sighed and shifted his weight in the booth. “I don’t know, Jack. That’s the truth. Seems like I’m always last in the loop. The rationale I’m getting from corporate is that they’re done paying for arbitration on a rule that nobody else in the Western Annex even has to deal with.”
Flanagan snorted. “By getting rid of the exemption instead of fixing the rule.”
Jimmy nodded.
“You realize this makes no sense.”
Jimmy nodded again. “Making sense and making money. You’d think those things would go together more often.” He waggled his thumb at their server. “But I got to get back to work oppressing the masses and torturing children.”
Flanagan laughed.
The server brought the tab, Jimmy thumbed it and smiled his thanks.
Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t like this any more than you do. I hate anything that has people up in arms and fighting the company. Sometimes it’s necessary.”
“Like the quota debacle?” Flanagan asked with a smirk.
“Like the quota debacle,” Jimmy said. “The Ole Man could have been a little more forthcoming about what the company was doing and why. I don’t know that it would have helped much, but at least I’d have had a fighting chance before he came out here and laid down the law.”
“Still, in the long run, it was a good thing,” Flanagan said. “You pulled that out of the fire.”
“Yeah, well. It didn’t feel like it when we thought we’d lose the planet.”
“So, what’s the lesson?” Flanagan drained the last of the coffee from his mug and slid out of the booth.
“Question your assumptions, I guess.” Jimmy stood up and slipped his parka on. “Don’t rely on doing what you’ve always done.”
“Seems like a model we could follow,” Flanagan said, shrugging into a wool coat and looping a scarf around his neck. “But that takes us back to who that first guy was.”
Jimmy nodded. “I need to check with archives. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.” He gave a wave to Barney behind the counter and headed for the door. The sharp sting of the wind off the water carried the nose-tingling bite of a winter not yet in full bloom.
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