We’ll think of something. You’re great at solving problems.”
“I’d rather be
great at not causing problems,” Esther mumbled.
“Who else knows?”
Neal asked.
“No one. I locked
up the desal room and came straight here. Salt, everyone is going to hate me .
. . until we all die, that is.”
“Maybe we can
think of some way to repair the system without anyone finding out,” Neal said,
forcing a lighter tone. “I haven’t seen Judith’s secret stores lately. Do you
think she’s collected enough material to fix a few of the components? Maybe
some of them aren’t completely destroyed. We should go have a look.”
“I can fix the
basic pipe and tank structure, if she
has the metal,” Esther said, “but it’ll take time. We’re going to need to get
some new reverse-osmosis filter material no matter what, and we’re going to
need it fast.” Esther gripped her wet, tangled hair in her fingers, going
through a mental list of all the things they’d need to get the system in
working order again.
Neal scanned his
control panel as if looking for inspiration in the switches and wires.
Suddenly, he spoke: “Marianna.”
“It’s Esther. Now
you’re losing it too.”
“No, Marianna. The Galaxy Flotilla . They’re a heck of a lot closer to us than the Amsterdam right now. They’d have the
stuff you need.”
Neal swiveled back
to the console and started digging through his charts.
“How do you know?
They keep reserves?”
Esther had only
just learned the Galaxy Flotilla existed. She doubted whether
they’d really have enough extra filters lying around to support a thousand
extra people.
“The Galaxy
Flotilla is huge,” Neal said. “They do some trade, like the Amsterdam , and they’ve built up a
massive surplus.”
“Still, Neal,
we’re going to need a lot.”
“You don’t
understand. There are thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of people living on
the Galaxy . If they can support that many, they’ve got to have enough
spares to trade us some filters.”
“Are you sure?”
Esther said. She couldn’t even imagine tens of thousands of people living
together at sea. There had to be a catch.
Neal nodded.
“Absolutely. I’ll ask Marianna, but I think they’re our best bet.”
“I hope you’re
right.” Esther stood and turned toward the sea. “They might be our only
option.”
Outside the window
the clouds were thinner today, like a layer of foam. The undrinkable saltwater
ocean rolled, taunting her.
“Marianna’s shift
starts in an hour,” Neal said. “I’ll get an exact read on their location.”
“Okay. So now all
we have to do is tell Judith we have to fire up the engines because I’m a
salting moron.” Esther grimaced, remembering Judith’s words: You’re not as good as you think you are,
Esther. “That ought to be fun.”
“Do we?” Neal
said.
“What?”
Neal looked at the
floor as if charting a course in the scuff marks on the battered surface.
“Well, we don’t technically have to tell her what’s going on,” he said slowly.
“It might be better for you in the long run if she doesn’t know how much you’ve
screwed up.”
“Great. Thanks,
Neal. What are you going to do? Sneak into the bridge at night and sail us
toward this Galaxy ?” She laughed, but it sounded unnatural.
“Well, I am the radio officer. I get the storm
data and warnings from other ships, the whole shebang. I could call a runner.”
Neal’s voice was deadly serious.
The idea hung in
the air. Esther studied him. Since when had Neal become such a secret keeper?
But . . . “That could work,” she said slowly.
“No one needs to
know,” Neal said. “They’d just panic, and that won’t help anybody. We’ll run
from a big storm and ‘encounter’ the Galaxy by chance, dock with them
for trade and all that, and then we can pick up the parts you need.”
It was an
interesting idea. Esther felt a fleeting sinking sensation at the prospect of
lying to everyone. But if Judith
“I’d rather be
great at not causing problems,” Esther mumbled.
“Who else knows?”
Neal asked.
“No one. I locked
up the desal room and came straight here. Salt, everyone is going to hate me .
. . until we all die, that is.”
“Maybe we can
think of some way to repair the system without anyone finding out,” Neal said,
forcing a lighter tone. “I haven’t seen Judith’s secret stores lately. Do you
think she’s collected enough material to fix a few of the components? Maybe
some of them aren’t completely destroyed. We should go have a look.”
“I can fix the
basic pipe and tank structure, if she
has the metal,” Esther said, “but it’ll take time. We’re going to need to get
some new reverse-osmosis filter material no matter what, and we’re going to
need it fast.” Esther gripped her wet, tangled hair in her fingers, going
through a mental list of all the things they’d need to get the system in
working order again.
Neal scanned his
control panel as if looking for inspiration in the switches and wires.
Suddenly, he spoke: “Marianna.”
“It’s Esther. Now
you’re losing it too.”
“No, Marianna. The Galaxy Flotilla . They’re a heck of a lot closer to us than the Amsterdam right now. They’d have the
stuff you need.”
Neal swiveled back
to the console and started digging through his charts.
“How do you know?
They keep reserves?”
Esther had only
just learned the Galaxy Flotilla existed. She doubted whether
they’d really have enough extra filters lying around to support a thousand
extra people.
“The Galaxy
Flotilla is huge,” Neal said. “They do some trade, like the Amsterdam , and they’ve built up a
massive surplus.”
“Still, Neal,
we’re going to need a lot.”
“You don’t
understand. There are thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of people living on
the Galaxy . If they can support that many, they’ve got to have enough
spares to trade us some filters.”
“Are you sure?”
Esther said. She couldn’t even imagine tens of thousands of people living
together at sea. There had to be a catch.
Neal nodded.
“Absolutely. I’ll ask Marianna, but I think they’re our best bet.”
“I hope you’re
right.” Esther stood and turned toward the sea. “They might be our only
option.”
Outside the window
the clouds were thinner today, like a layer of foam. The undrinkable saltwater
ocean rolled, taunting her.
“Marianna’s shift
starts in an hour,” Neal said. “I’ll get an exact read on their location.”
“Okay. So now all
we have to do is tell Judith we have to fire up the engines because I’m a
salting moron.” Esther grimaced, remembering Judith’s words: You’re not as good as you think you are,
Esther. “That ought to be fun.”
“Do we?” Neal
said.
“What?”
Neal looked at the
floor as if charting a course in the scuff marks on the battered surface.
“Well, we don’t technically have to tell her what’s going on,” he said slowly.
“It might be better for you in the long run if she doesn’t know how much you’ve
screwed up.”
“Great. Thanks,
Neal. What are you going to do? Sneak into the bridge at night and sail us
toward this Galaxy ?” She laughed, but it sounded unnatural.
“Well, I am the radio officer. I get the storm
data and warnings from other ships, the whole shebang. I could call a runner.”
Neal’s voice was deadly serious.
The idea hung in
the air. Esther studied him. Since when had Neal become such a secret keeper?
But . . . “That could work,” she said slowly.
“No one needs to
know,” Neal said. “They’d just panic, and that won’t help anybody. We’ll run
from a big storm and ‘encounter’ the Galaxy by chance, dock with them
for trade and all that, and then we can pick up the parts you need.”
It was an
interesting idea. Esther felt a fleeting sinking sensation at the prospect of
lying to everyone. But if Judith
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