The only one who still seemed truly miserable was Dr. Young. Davidson wasn’t sure how to reach her, either. During the last sabbath, while everyone was sitting around after their meal, he pulled out the “guitar” he had been secretly working on for well over a month now. It only had four strings so far because that was all the gut he had been able to spare from making bow strings and spares, though the way John had been at hunting lately he might have a full set before long. Because of the natural gut strings, he had to tune it a couple of times a night. If he played for very long but for an improvised home-made version, it didn’t sound bad. Anyway, everyone was up dancing. Godfreed and Dr. Stone, the girls, even danced with John and the Roth brothers. Only Dr. Gupta and Dr. Young didn’t dance.
He had asked Elena and the others about Dr. Gupta that evening when they had some alone time. It took quite a bit of miming and some humorous misunderstandings, but in the end Dr. Gupta was nice but too old; it wasn’t right to dance with him. St. Claire and the Roths were little brothers, Gupta was a man. Once Davidson realised this, they all nodded to show that they all felt this way. He wasn’t looking forward to having this conversation with the guys, but they really needed to know. The quickest way to hurt feelings was mixed signals. It meant that this harvest festival might end up being very important indeed. Modern “Civilized” man likes to see himself as above his ‘baser’ instincts, but that is just denial and self delusion. The Creator of the universe said it from the very beginning, “It is not good for man to be alone.” It is even worse for a man to be alone while seeing his brother with an abundance. `Eli knew in his soul that things as they were, was just a time bomb with the pressure building.
How can this be allowed to continue?
Evita was getting depressed. What was she supposed to do in this damn world? Her skills were useless. What good was a quantum physics degree in a world that thought the theory of relativity was related to the divine right of kings? She really wanted to cry. Georgia, who used to be so close with her, was now all ga-ga over Marcus Godfreed. She snorted. Well, she could at least understand that. He was a first rate mind wrapped in what was undeniably a first rate body. And she could understand what he saw in her. A mature woman who knew her own mind. She was strong and independent and both intelligent and accomplished in her own right. She wasn’t anything like those eight illiterates who just pushed their way in here with their “For Eli” and completely stole the brains of every man in the place. Since they came back from the wreck it was like twenty times a day each of them would point to something and ask “English?”. They all did it and it was driving her crazy!
The guys were all fawning all over them. It started with Gupta making that damn press and outdoor kitchen. The way they all raved over it, you would think he had invented fire. The only good thing as far as Evita was concerned was at least it still hadn’t gotten the little slimy bastard laid. She knew that wasn’t nice, but the man was what? Almost sixty? He may look nineteen, but that changed nothing as far as she was concerned. Davidson might be playing slap and tickle with them, but at least he didn’t go chasing it. He just didn’t resist when it fell into his lap.
She shook her head. Then the Roth brothers, with their crude spinning wheel. The way the girls acted, you would think that it spun the wool into gold. Too bad for the brothers, but at their apparent age the girls just treated them like favored little brothers.
She had thought that at least John St. Claire was keeping his wits, but she found out through Georgia that Davidson had been teaching him how to make the jewelry and that Godfreed had been helping him work on a hand full of pieces for the harvest festival.
Speaking of Davidson, even he wasn’t immune. As if them all following him around all doe eyed all the time wasn’t enough. Even to the bath! Talk about the scandal. For the next seventh day's rest, he pulled out a crude guitar he had cobbled together. As if he doesn’t have enough actual work to do. I like music as much as the next person but not only did those craven attention whores dance with St. Claire and the Ross brothers, but they danced with each other in some of the most lewd bump and grind kind of moves. She can’t imagine that they actually realized what they were simulating. It had to be something that Davidson taught them and they just went along with “For Eli.” of course. This whole situation is just completely out of control.
Despite it all, at least their new home was at least showing progress. One floor almost complete, this whole next week before the festival would be sawing beams for second floor and for the roof. As well as burning new batches of shells for concrete and gathering up even more rocks. They wouldn’t get it finished before the festival, but if things took a turn for the worse, the walls were already nearly three feet thick and taller than even Godfreed’s head. So at least there was that. She sighed and went back to gathering firewood. Between cooking and the forge and making the cement, it seemed as if there was no way to ever gather enough.
Working with what you have
John had been staying off the radar pretty much since Davidson finished Dr. Godfreed’s armor. Oh, he did his work and was always happy to help when needed, but given his size and appearance, it was too easy for the others to just see him as a child and react to him accordingly. Being the youngest pilot ever allowed his level of responsibility, he had been fighting that fight most of his life. This time, however, competence was an actual issue. If they were attacked, he didn’t have Dr. Godfreed’s size to leverage. Or Commander Davidson’s decades of training. He had a child’s body and twenty-one week advanced course in close quarters combat. That sounded impressive to someone who doesn’t fight, but to anyone with actual experience... it is just a good foundation.
He had been out hunting one day, honestly he had been out hiding, using hunting as the excuse, when he suddenly realized that he did have the foundation, and just like the missing hair on his balls, crying about what wasn’t there didn’t change a damn thing. All you could do is build on what you do have. So he started practicing with his crossbow. If nothing else, he told himself, he’d get strong enough to cock it and fire four times in a minute. Then he laughed because he realized that he had nothing to time a minute with. His watch had been digital and the battery, like all the others, had been drained. He shook his head, ‘no hill for a climber’ he thought. Four times a minute is just once every fifteen seconds. “Even your dumb ass can count to fifteen, right?” he said out loud. Smiling as he realized he was alone in the woods, talking to himself.
So that became his routine for two hours every morning. Cock aim, fire. Repeat. Four times, four counts of fifteen. Target fifty paces away. Recover your bolts, and do it again. After a week of this, he added climbing a tree. As any American teen, he had seen at least a dozen ‘ninja’ movies on late night tv. He improvised small bits of the wreckage into gear to help him climb. Cleats on the soles of his boots and in open fingered gloves that he could quickly slide on his hands. Soon enough, with some practice, and only a couple of close calls, he could reliably scale nearly any tree he wanted to. In this, his small size and lightweight frame were actually an advantage.
As his actual hunting improved now that his marksmanship had gotten markedly better, he began to work fancy bone and antler handles to hold just small slivers of metal. He didn’t want to take too much from the group’s resources for his supplies. Not that he thought that they wouldn’t gladly equip him, but he was enjoying finding out exactly how brutal he could make a weapon with only the minimum of steel to act as the cutting surface. He also spent the evenings intricately carving and engraving on the bone and horn. They were becoming not just damn functional tools and weapons, but legit works of art. He was taking pride in his accomplishments.
Finally, just last week, he had to bring someone else in on his plan. While Melina had been helping him work the leather for a while, really too bad she was so hooked on Davidson. Wonder if he knew how lucky he was... anyway, she didn’t realize that he was doing anything more than just hunting. So John
was more than a bit nervous when, after swearing Josh Roth to secrecy, he actually showed off his skills. John couldn’t help grinning at the stunned look on Josh’s face. “Dude, you’re amazing! Where did you learn to do all of that? Are you like part monkey or what?”
John shook his head. “Really man, most of it is just simple skills and a LOT of practice. Once you have the muscle memory, it’s not a bit deal, getting the muscle memory...eh... not going to lie, wasn’t fun. So think you can help me with the chemistry?”
Josh scratched his head. “You’re not wanting something good enough to shoot out of a gun or a cannon? You just want a flash? Maybe pipe bomb level... you know where to get sulfur and of course guano is all over this damn island thanks to the seagulls... I’ll need to break our confidentiality agreement enough to bring Sam in.” he paused to see John’s response.
John just grinned, “Kinda figured that one.”
Josh just smiled back and shrugged. “I think it can be done by Festival time. Give us til after the winter and we could probably have you a matchlock musket. It’s just that milling gunpowder can be dangerous the books say if it isn’t done right and considering we’ve never done it before... kinda want to go in SMALL batches until we know what we’re doing.”
John nodded his head. “Yeah. Be safe. I don’t want our people getting hurt for this. I just want us to have an ace up our sleeve, just in case. If you can get me this ace,” he pulled out two small brass rings, they were old compression fittings that had been enlarged, thinned, and hammered smooth then a simple cross-hatch pattern scored in the face of them, “One for each of you to trade as you see fit during the festival.” John grinned at him.
Josh sighed. “Well the price is right. Let me see what we can do.”
As he slipped off to do a bit more hunting that afternoon, John couldn’t help but wonder at the mercurial and subjective nature of value. Two brass compression fittings mass produced on his old Earth may be worth a buck a piece at government contractor prices, but with a little hammering and prettifying here they could win the affections or at least the attentions of a young woman. His naturally sourced hand tanned naturally cured and died hand tooled belt and scabbard in this world, just a passing bauble, on Etsy back home probably $200 easy. Not to mention what a night with Elena or Melina would cost, he thought with a grin. He knew he should feel bad about thinking that but even if it was just a legitimate normal date, you could blow $80 in no time, hell you pay for it one way or the other, he thought.
Festival
Cause Every Girl Crazy ‘Bout A Sharp Dressed Man
Today was the sabbath. Everyone had it off from normal work but other than Eli Davidson who had been studiously forcing himself to “do no servile work” despite his every instinct screaming at him that with the big trip coming up tomorrow that there was too much to do to just sit here and casually contemplate life. He couldn’t even distract himself by talking with the ladies. They were all off in one direction or the other, seeing to some detail about their big day tomorrow. Oh sure, he could have put his foot down, and technically as the head of the house he was supposed to do just that, but Eli had always thought that leading by example was the better choice. He also knew that this was a big day for them. For most of them, it was the first time they were going to see their families again since they came to live with him. He had spent way too much valuable time hammering twisted chunks of scrap into long thin bars, almost wires of steel, and then twisting them into nice little circlets for each one of them with a little sea shell neatly affixed right over the forehead. They would have been considered cheap trinkets where he came from suitable for children, but the girls cherished them. He hoped it would let their families know that he valued them.
Anju Gupta was also busy. He had scored some metal too, and while he wasn’t the metal smith that Davidson was, he knew the concerns of poor families. He took this small square of aluminum and with it he made a trowel. He made some basic wooden forms. With their metal saws and drill bits, this was far faster and easier to do than it would be for the locals with their stone and bone tools. Storing just a handful of pre-made bricks and a box of wet clay on the back of the wagon, as long as one of Elena’s friends were willing to help him negotiate with the girl’s father, Anju was quite certain he would bring home a blushing bride by the end of the Festival.
Marcus was watching Georgia fret over what to take with a smile. “You sure you don’t want to just stay here and hold down the fort? Might be nice having the place all to ourselves for a couple of days.”
Georgia turned on him. “Marcus Godfreed! Are you ashamed to be seen with me in public?” she asked with a dangerous tone to her voice and only the hint of a smile to take the edge out of the accusation.
“Ah, now, Miss Georgia, you know better than that. I just thought...”
She interrupted him, “You just let certain parts of your anatomy do your thinkin’ for you.” She grinned at him. “We’ve been together for two months now, and you haven’t taken me out even once. Besides, this is supposed to be quite the local event. Do you suppose they sell dresses there? I’d dearly love to have something to wear besides this flight suit.”
Marcus chuckled softly. “You look good in anything,” he said as he took her in his arms. Then whispered in her ear, “better in nothing at all.”
Meanwhile Evita Young was packing extra strips of dried venison. “Who knows what food will be available. These people could eat anything. Probably like a poor man’s excuse for a backwood county fair. The whole place will probably smell like the horse barn, and that’s just the people...”
The Roth brothers were actually fairly excited. They had completed their task for St. Claire, and the results had been better than they had feared. With a couple of more weeks to work, they might even have been able to have had a crude working match lock musket. Still, they had received their payment, so between that and assurances from Elena’s friend Sapphira they knew that before the festival was over, they wouldn’t be alone in this world anymore. Sapphira seemed to think them a fine catch, even if a bit too young. They couldn’t help laughing at that, but she said with their ability to provide for a family, it shouldn’t be a problem. It amazed them at how much easier it had gotten to understand the girls over the last few weeks. Oh, half of it was still sign language, but damn if you didn’t know what they were talking about most of the time.
John St. Claire was checking over his equipment. Twenty crossbow bolts with heavy steel heads. Twelve assorted small throwing knives and darts in various semi hidden sheathes. Two full size grenades, based on the test he and the Roths did, the size of the charge he had packed inside those concrete shells would blow chunks of concrete fifteen feet in all directions. Probably kill out right anyone with in five feet of the thing on any side. He also had four smaller flash charges. Wouldn’t cause any damage, but for people who didn’t know what gunpowder was, he expected it to take them a while to recover from the shock. Two weighted bolos. His climbing claws. A bone grappling hook and fifteen feet of rawhide rope. The little Leatherman multi-tool he had with him during the flight never leave home without it. Last, his only obvious weapon other than the crossbow, an eighteen-inch heavy Arkansas Toothpick that Davidson had forged for him, hardened and heat treated proper. It was a fine weapon from quality steel. The old joke floated across his mind, you could tickle a man’s ribs with it for a long time before you could get him to laugh... He looked up as he slid it into place, all the gear tucked away, neatly disappearing from the view of the casual observer except for the knife and the crossbow. He noticed Melina staring at him, her eyes just a little wide, watching such an arsenal get put away on his tiny person. He grinned at her a bit sheepishly; he didn’t want her to think that he was looking for trouble. “Hi. I need your help.”
Her face brightened, and John couldn’t help but feel a little tug in his soul. She really was beautiful. “Melina, help John.” she said with a firm nod of her head.
John coul
dn’t help but smile. Confidence and enthusiasm, Davidson was one lucky bastard, that’s for sure. “Elina, get Melina for Eli.” John started. He pointed at the ring on her hand.
Melina looked at it and smiled again and nodded. “For Eli.”
John turned and fished in the leather bag laying on his bedroll. He pulled out two soft suede choker collars with quarters tightly stitched to them eagle side facing out with intricate bone fasteners in the back and four simple rings of hammered aluminium. He piled this small mound of “treasure” in her hand and her eyes grew big, “Melina get...” He opened his hands and showed that he didn’t know, “For John”.
His eyes met hers, and she could see his desire to have someone, to not be alone. She was a bit at a loss because he was so young but she looked at the small fortune of beautiful things he had put in her hand, and remembered how much better her life was since she had followed Elena out of the village that day. She could only nod. “For John”
When John had put that roll of quarters in his pocket the morning for the launch intending to stop at the laundromat to do some clothes before the weekend, he never would have thought that they would end up being this important to him. Considering that without a way to buy a woman’s attention given what the time regression had done to his body it would be at least a maddening decade before he could normally be seen as worthy, John couldn’t help but want to scream at the insanity of the universe. He realized that even once he had her attention and could command her presence, he would still need to win her respect for it to mean anything. He would still need to prove himself. It’s just that without this, he wouldn’t even be given the chance. Even with this, without Melina to speak for him, it probably still wouldn’t have worked.
World Wright Incorporated (World Wright Inc. Book 1) Page 7