plowing through our plankton fields.”
Revas squatted by another corpse and lifted the tarp to study the man’s face.
Was she even listening to me?
“We had to do something about it,” I added. “The ’wealth backed us up.”
“Yes, I know.” Looking dissatisfied, she replaced the tarp and rose. “You passed an ordinance that covers most of the eastern continental shelf, which happened to be the townships’ primary fishing grounds since they launched eighty years ago.”
“They have the rest of the Atlantic to fish in.”
“Kid, you know better than most that there are more fish on the shelf than off. And finding and catching them is a heck of a lot easier there.”
That brought me up short. The fish on the abyssal plain were few and far between and not particularly good eating. Mostly there was mud and a smattering of sea cucumbers.
“See why it might rub the surfs the wrong way to buy seaweed from settlers?” she asked.
I shook my head. How had I missed that? How had everyone missed that? A disquieting thought struck me. Maybe the settlers hadn’t missed it. Maybe they just hadn’t cared.
No. That couldn’t be it. The settlers were the good guys. Well, except for the time a group of my neighbors tried to lynch Shade. That hadn’t been a pretty moment. But Ma and Pa had known nothing about it. Came running to stop it when they heard.
“My parents must not have realized the consequences of the ordinance,” I said aloud.
“Of course not.” Her expression said the opposite. Looking across the promenade, Revas studied her troopers—all in ocean blue jumpsuits with low-slung gun belts. Her gaze stopped on a woman carrying a child-sized bundle. “Hatorah,” she called out.
“Even if they did have some idea,” I went on in my parents’ defense, “I can guarantee they didn’t know that the surfs hate us.”
“Possible.” Revas glanced at me. “You settlers do keep to yourselves.”
My parents had been kidnapped and this captain acted as if it was their own fault. “We’re not keeping to ourselves; we’re putting in long days on our farmsbecause the ‘wealth doesn’t give
us
monthly handouts. Not like the townships get. We have to work hard for what we have.”
“Want me to pass that on to the surfs who took your parents?” she asked evenly. “Or would you like me to try to resolve this in a way that won’t incite violence?”
I shut my mouth. She had a point. If the surfs did hate the settlers, then my parents were in even more danger than I’d realized—a notion as cold and buffeting as a current surging toward the abyss.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
“First, Nomad’s sachem is not among the dead,” Captain Revas told the trooper named Hatorah. “Get someone to find out if he’s been spotted alive since Nomad disappeared—maybe at Rip Tide or the black market. After you’ve assigned that, get his story.” She gestured to me. “Significant details, everything. Then take out three skimmers to comb the area for Drift. Pull up pictures and its dimensions so you don’t investigate every sonar blip.”
“That’s it?” I demanded. “Three skimmers?”
The trooper’s brows shot up at my disrespectful tone.
As if I cared. “That’s all you’re sending out to look for my parents?”
“Even if I had vehicles to spare, which I don’t”—Revas’s voice held a warning—“the situation calls for diplomacy, not a show of might. The surfs on Drift took your parents for a reason.”
“They had
no
reason. We were selling them crops.”
“Go home, kid, or you’ll just make things worse. I will do what I can to find your parents and negotiate their release. But they’re not the reason I’m here.” She pointedat the line of corpses. “They are. Three townships have disappeared in the past nine months. That’s over a thousand people who got shuffled to the bottom of too many priority lists. But not mine.”
Missing townships? That was news to me. Not that anyone in the
Revas squatted by another corpse and lifted the tarp to study the man’s face.
Was she even listening to me?
“We had to do something about it,” I added. “The ’wealth backed us up.”
“Yes, I know.” Looking dissatisfied, she replaced the tarp and rose. “You passed an ordinance that covers most of the eastern continental shelf, which happened to be the townships’ primary fishing grounds since they launched eighty years ago.”
“They have the rest of the Atlantic to fish in.”
“Kid, you know better than most that there are more fish on the shelf than off. And finding and catching them is a heck of a lot easier there.”
That brought me up short. The fish on the abyssal plain were few and far between and not particularly good eating. Mostly there was mud and a smattering of sea cucumbers.
“See why it might rub the surfs the wrong way to buy seaweed from settlers?” she asked.
I shook my head. How had I missed that? How had everyone missed that? A disquieting thought struck me. Maybe the settlers hadn’t missed it. Maybe they just hadn’t cared.
No. That couldn’t be it. The settlers were the good guys. Well, except for the time a group of my neighbors tried to lynch Shade. That hadn’t been a pretty moment. But Ma and Pa had known nothing about it. Came running to stop it when they heard.
“My parents must not have realized the consequences of the ordinance,” I said aloud.
“Of course not.” Her expression said the opposite. Looking across the promenade, Revas studied her troopers—all in ocean blue jumpsuits with low-slung gun belts. Her gaze stopped on a woman carrying a child-sized bundle. “Hatorah,” she called out.
“Even if they did have some idea,” I went on in my parents’ defense, “I can guarantee they didn’t know that the surfs hate us.”
“Possible.” Revas glanced at me. “You settlers do keep to yourselves.”
My parents had been kidnapped and this captain acted as if it was their own fault. “We’re not keeping to ourselves; we’re putting in long days on our farmsbecause the ‘wealth doesn’t give
us
monthly handouts. Not like the townships get. We have to work hard for what we have.”
“Want me to pass that on to the surfs who took your parents?” she asked evenly. “Or would you like me to try to resolve this in a way that won’t incite violence?”
I shut my mouth. She had a point. If the surfs did hate the settlers, then my parents were in even more danger than I’d realized—a notion as cold and buffeting as a current surging toward the abyss.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
“First, Nomad’s sachem is not among the dead,” Captain Revas told the trooper named Hatorah. “Get someone to find out if he’s been spotted alive since Nomad disappeared—maybe at Rip Tide or the black market. After you’ve assigned that, get his story.” She gestured to me. “Significant details, everything. Then take out three skimmers to comb the area for Drift. Pull up pictures and its dimensions so you don’t investigate every sonar blip.”
“That’s it?” I demanded. “Three skimmers?”
The trooper’s brows shot up at my disrespectful tone.
As if I cared. “That’s all you’re sending out to look for my parents?”
“Even if I had vehicles to spare, which I don’t”—Revas’s voice held a warning—“the situation calls for diplomacy, not a show of might. The surfs on Drift took your parents for a reason.”
“They had
no
reason. We were selling them crops.”
“Go home, kid, or you’ll just make things worse. I will do what I can to find your parents and negotiate their release. But they’re not the reason I’m here.” She pointedat the line of corpses. “They are. Three townships have disappeared in the past nine months. That’s over a thousand people who got shuffled to the bottom of too many priority lists. But not mine.”
Missing townships? That was news to me. Not that anyone in the
Similar Books
