Chapter 4 #2
I let my gaze travel the room, picked out a half-dozen more.
Some, mostly the newer arrivals from the Shima, thought about the food, or the safety, or the next place to sleep.
But most ran on sex, or on the hope of it.
Not just the act, but what it meant to belong, to be chosen, to have a body in the night that wasn’t just another number.
There was nothing abstract about it. The thoughts came raw, not like poetry but like hunger.
I looked at Joy, who stood still as a lighthouse in a storm, and felt her pulse of contentment, like the warmth after a fever.
I looked at Gascha, who stood not quite as close as she wanted to, and felt her need to be touched, to have her ears stroked, and her back scratched, but who would never ask with all these others in the room.
Even Lyubor, who spoke little and watched everything, ran her own scenarios: not of me, but of her own people, splintering, or leaving, or joining with the pack.
Her mind was a slow scroll, a ledger of what it would take to keep the elves from fracturing before the year was out.
She respected me and had said as much; she’d seen what I could do.
On her world, there was war between elves and human kingdoms, and most of her people still saw humans as barely more than animals.
There were exceptions. She understood this was not her world.
It was the human world, and the survival of her small group here might depend on staying with us.
When the last question on the Newport mission died down, I looked at the room and said, “If any of you have something urgent, bring it to me after. Otherwise, we move on.”
No one spoke, but the air cleared a little, as if everyone took a breath at once.
The Casino’s windows rattled with the wind off the harbor, and for a second, the lanterns wavered on their hooks, throwing the benches into shadows.
I could feel every thought in the room at that moment, and it didn’t scare me. It made me feel alive.
I took a slow breath and let it fill my ribs. Then I set the next question on the table: “Next item is the Chesapeake. Gascha?”
She stood, tugged her shirt straight, and locked eyes with the benches.
“We are finished with the main mast and have reworked both the aft and the forward,” she said, voice even.
“Rigging is set, but still rough. We must build new lines as the old ones fray. Most of the glass is gone or boarded. Below decks is dry, but you can smell the ocean in the wood. It will hold, but I would not take her far until we fix more.”
Heads nodded. A few voices in the Ci Dyn group made low confirmation rumbles. I glanced at the Frenchmen, Gerard and Nolan, who had spent the day on the ship.
Gerard spoke up in his accented English. “The new spars are up. We used poles and masts from the wrecked yachts, not the local trees. It is solid work. A few more days and she will be ready for open water again.”
Nolan nodded. “Rigging still needs finishing, and some of the board-ups should be replaced with real glass when we find it. But the ship will be bluewater capable once the last of the work is done.”
That settled the practical questions. I kept it short. “A few more days, then. For now, the Chesapeake stays at the south docks while we finish her. Local work and shelter until then.”
Gascha nodded, satisfied. Her ears relaxed as she let out a visible sigh of relief.
“Next is Horizon,” I said.
Taylor took the cue, voice flat but precise.
“All systems nominal. The landing strut is fully repaired, as are the secondary flight controls. Laser emplacements are functional. Life support is running efficiently. I discovered minor damage to the crew hatch, but it does not affect operation. The pilot’s seat has been repaired.
Diagnostics complete. She can lift at a moment’s notice. ”
William added, “We ran power checks on the main drive. The core is holding steady. I don’t know the exact design, but it runs on a principle close to the nuclear systems I know, only far denser and cleaner.
Output is stable, and the reserves look long-term.
” He shrugged. “She flies better than anything else, even if she’s built for cargo, not people. ”
Nolan crossed his arms, looking bored but content. “She’s ready.”
That led to a quick discussion about whether Horizon should remain grounded as a reserve or be kept flight-ready for reconnaissance and rapid extraction.
Some wanted her up in the air at all times; others said the risk of keeping her flying wasn’t worth it.
I cut it before it got circular: “We’ll keep her ready for emergencies and use as needed.
No patrols unless we have good reason. Next topic. ”
I felt the weight of the next question before I said it. Everyone in the room did, too. “The island. Are we making it a home, or just a staging point?”
Silence for a few seconds, then I spoke.
“Pros: The harbor is defensible. We have an existing shelter. The Casino can fit everyone in a pinch, and the old hotels and clubs can be fixed as needed. There’s an airport and a serviceable dock.
Two Harbors can house more if we expand there.
There are fish, shellfish, and even seaweed, enough to keep us fed.
The main weakness is water and food production: the island is dry and rocky.
Not much grows here, except what the elves are trying on the golf course.
And the island lost about half of the West End when the Blue Wave and tsunami hit.
It’s still mud and dead things out there.
San Clemente and the other Channel Islands are even worse, but we can send teams to check if needed. ”
Joanne said, “It makes sense to keep a base here. With the lookouts and the drones we pulled from Horizon, we’ll see anyone coming long before they get close.
” She paused, then added, “I still miss the fruit and the game on Fatu Hiva. Food was easier there, especially for the number of people we had. Here, all we have are fish and clams.”
“Crabs, too,” someone in the crowd offered, eliciting a few laughs before a voice from the elven group spoke up. “If we stay, will you force us to work for you?” She was the one with the braid, standing now, her chin raised.
“For now, no,” I said. “You’re our guests. You help if you want to help. You leave if you want to leave. But while you’re here, you follow the rules of the pack.”
I paused and looked her in the eye. Her thoughts hit me in a messy rush.
Fear of the world she didn’t understand.
Fear of the Ci Dyn. A sharp, unwanted heat directed at me that made her stomach turn.
Disgust at herself for feeling it. The idea that leaving might be cleaner.
The half-formed suspicion that I’d somehow charmed her was dismissed because she’d already checked for magic and found nothing, but Lyubor’s work, which I wouldn’t have known about had she not detected it and thought about it.
“Yaloni, right?” I asked.
She gave a tight nod.
“Thank you for the question. I get the feeling there’s more under it than forced labor.
Lyubor’s told me about the war on your world.
The human kingdoms. Many of your people were lost. Members of your own family.
” I kept my voice even. “Humans aren’t all good or all bad.
Not everyone here will greet you with open arms, but you and your people are welcome with us.
You’re also welcome to find your own way if that’s what you decide.
You’re our guests, not our prisoners. If you become more than that, it’s entirely up to you. ”
That held her for a second. Her jaw tightened. The heat in her thoughts spiked, then curdled into fresh anger at herself.
“Some say it is not our island,” she said. “It belongs to you. Or to the Ci Dyn.”
Lyubor stood, her platinum hair catching the lantern light.
She didn’t shout, but her voice cut the air.
“We are guests here. If we wish to survive, we must be useful. If we wish to leave, we do so as a group, not as scattered prey. I have made my choice. Others will make theirs.” She sat again without glancing at the younger elf.