Chapter 4: Amateurs

I woke at dawn and felt like a swim; Frank was up already, and shrugged when I told him. "Breakfast isn't for a little while. Don't get chilled." I seldom did; there was something I wanted to try.

I dropped into the water, staying in sight for a few minutes so he'd stop watching me, then went under. I kept going, pausing every fifty yards or so that I descended.

I found the bottom.

I'd only been deep once before. At my home atoll it had been deeper, dark even at noon; the water soaked up the sunlight like thick cloth. Once an eccentric trader somehow learned about me and told me he'd give me a flare to use if I would go down and look around, maybe bring something back from the bottom. I went, and brought up a flask of dirt, a couple of books, some jewellery including my necklace. I kept a book and some jewellery. My family sold my half of the dirt; I never saw a scrap.

I'd also learned about the dangers of going up and down too fast. I nearly died, and spent a long time feeling terrible.

Here it was closer to the surface; it was dim, but I could just see. At noon, I could stay down for hours exploring. I could see what had to be buildings, or parts of them. Not big ones, not like I'd seen the other time; these were smaller, less left of them; less metal. I rubbed the material. Wood. That incredibly rare and valuable stuff. Maybe if I could get a boat I'd stand a chance as a trader; I could haul this stuff up and sell it. The fish didn't need it.

I noticed a sign over the entrance; Newman's Delicatessen. The paint was still just legible.

What was a delicatessen? I'd never heard the word. Was Newman a place, a person, something else altogether? Did it mean the building was only for young men, perhaps a place to stay?

I went inside, carefully. It was dark, and there were probably animals living in there. I couldn't figure out what half the stuff was for.

On the ground outside, I found a huge piece of glass, not even cracked - worth a fortune if I could bring it up. And dirt. Lots and lots of dirt.

I wished I could show other people this. This place had once been above water. The childish story of Dry Land was under our feet, and we'd never known.
What had gone wrong? I wanted to know.

I filled a small leather pouch with dirt and ascended in a thoughtful mood. I was actually happy. I might not fit in on the new atoll, I might be a slave, I might have no friends - but I could see and do things they would never be able to. I'd finally found a real use for being so strange.

No one seemed to notice that I'd been gone. We had our breakfast and went to work. The fish leather needed working into clothing, but I'm hopeless with a needle. I was quickly told to help with the still.

"Nice piece," I said.

"It lets us survive in summer," I was told brusquely. While we talked my dirt was drying in a corner; I snuck it into one of the prized plant pots when no one was looking. Lemon. Tomato. Beans. A few others. Their plants were their wealth, not their jewellery.

It was going to be a long day.

The next day followed the same pattern, and the four after that; we worked, they played, they talked. I hid how well I could swim and missed my home, where I always, always worked the fishing lines, staying in the water for hours on end until I shrivelled like a prune.

I missed that.

Finally Frank called me over. "There's something I want you to do for me," he said.

I listened. "Take this." A flat box full of sand was thrust at me. "Greta, Travis and Jason don't read and they should learn. Start teaching them. Today."

I sighed. "Where are they?"

"Over there, at the table. Teach them."

I sat down next to them. They looked at me expectantly. "You ever had lessons before?"

"No," they all said.

"Then we start with the alphabet." I pulled the sand over. "Twenty-six letters, each written two ways. The first is A."

I was part-way through the alphabet, writing out words you could make from the letters they knew, when someone whistled."

"Light on the horizon," he called. It was sun-set.

I looked. "There?"

"Yeah." Frank handed me his telescope. "Opinion?"

"Big ship, lots of people. Not a trader, not enough room for cargo and equipment. Sails. So slavers, most likely. And it's dark of the moon; they're probably planning to come in at night. They'll have electric lights. We don't. We're easy meat."

"Figure thirty, thirty-five."

"Twenty-five, I'd have said," Mitchell said. "Any chance we can capture the boat?"

"Maybe," I said. "I swim out there. I know how to cripple electric lights. Everyone gets off the atoll, in the water. Some of them get off the ship to board, we take them then. The only edge they have is numbers and lights. We whittle that down, split them up, we have a chance, and I can fix the lights."

Looks were exchanged. "It's a long way out there. You'll freeze."

"I've swum far further at night. They won't see me coming."

"Go," Travis said. "No. Take this." He handed me a knife. "I noticed yours is old and dull."

"You got a boat-hook? I can use one better. And some rope."

"And it doubles as a climbing tool."

"Exactly." I took the proffered weapons and hit the water hard. "I'll be back." I had nowhere else to go.

It was a long cold swim out there; I stayed under the water, coming up for less than two seconds at a time, and not swimming a straight line. I had to time this exactly right. I didn't want to come up in front of them; I wanted to come up under their stern and catch on. I'd only get one chance. I hung underwater, waiting.

They came in over me; I kicked up hard at the dim shape in the water, barely more than an outline. I grabbed, slipped, grabbed again, and was along for the ride.

Next task, get up the side. No nice neat edge low to the water like Travis' boat; no, this one had a proper hull. That made it harder; I had to be dead silent, never let go, and not be seen or smelled.

Good thing it was an old, rusted metal boat; it had hand-holds. I looked for the lights. Spot-lights, designed to shine right at the enemy; they can't see anything, you see them clear as day. Running off pedals, crewed by either slaves or low-ranked slavers, I couldn't tell. They were running dark. The biggest light was at the back, a stretched cable running to it. One man near it. I edged around, desperately scared of noise. At one point I think the boat-hook scraped the hull, but no one seemed to notice. I had only a few minutes left; I could just make out the outline. The light was fading fast. Starlight is pretty, but you can't see by it.

I braced my feet carefully, surged up and in my first ever display of absolutely perfect timing, slit the slaver's throat and pulled him back over the rail almost silently. Everyone was facing forward, for a wonder. I held onto his shirt collar as he fell, slowing him enough that the splash was hidden under the noise of lots of men checking their weapons. Some guns, mostly spears and clubs. Another man wandered over, leaning against the rear rail and picking his teeth; he stank as if he hadn't bathed in a month. I was shaking and covered in blood - why had no one noticed the spray? I hated it. I had to fight. Better to live on the atoll than as a slave. I stuck the boat-hook around his neck and yanked. There was a crack. I hauled him over the side and dropped him.

Four seconds work and the cable would not work. There wasn't enough length to patch it. I looked at the other lights, all up the mast. With three men to man them. I had to come up with something else. I paused. The pedalling made them work - but the charge to start it all came from a battery. I took the wire section I had cut out and held it carefully, edged around to the deck housing. These men were either grossly overconfident or inexperienced; they weren't watching their boat, their rear, their slaves, their own men, just the atoll. Anticipation of an easy kill?

I put the wire across the terminals of the battery and very carefully secured it, horribly aware that I was left bending over something with my back to everyone and I was not invisible. Being helpless and a target is not my idea of fun.

I couldn't believe no one spotted me. I eased over the side and hung on. I looked up. "Thank you," I whispered, not really sure to whom I was speaking but meaning it with every bone in my body, and disappeared under the water, hanging on like a barnacle myself.

The fight was short, nasty and brutal; I stayed in the water and dealt with the ones who tried to get away, or swim around to attack from an unexpected place. Maybe seven in all. I hoped there were no sharks around.

I didn't see much of the rest. The oh-so-flirtatious Dean floated past at one point; I noticed Travis, Toby and Greta were all hurt. Micah had been the only one to not fight; they wouldn't let her.

It also turned out Frank was a dead shot with a rifle; he picked off eight before they got close. Tyla killed two with a frying pan. Mitchell almost went beserk - some men do that in a fight. Jason covered his back, or he could have died. "This was an amateur lot," Frank pronounced, dropping a spear he had been examining. "Maybe a group who mutinied or were expelled. Not nearly enough guns for a proper effort to loot us. We won't be so lucky next time." He looked at the dead.

"What shall we do with them?" I asked. "We can't recycle them."

"No. We'll take everything we can use and dump the bodies where the currents will wash them away from this place."

"Even Dean?" Mitchell asked softly. "He was my friend."

"Even Dean," Frank said just as softly. "Nice work, everyone. Kayla, do you know any healing?"

"No more than everyone does."

"You got a strong stomach?"

"Fairly; why?"

"I want you and Travis to do something fairly disgusting."