Garrett grimaced. He wrote, “I come all this way to build a nice, clean science project and it turns into a pissing contest between two lunatics.”
“It’s inevitable,” wrote Martin. “We’re dealing with humans here.”
“Look. Is there any way to throw the Pilgrims out? I admit I should have done more to prevent this kind of problem, but at the moment I need to rely on your legal and business skill. What are our options?”
“We negotiate for them to either leave willingly — in which case we need more cheap labor ASAP, maybe from the island — or to stay, in which case we need to live with them somehow.”
Garrett wrote, “Isn’t Cuba desperate for jobs?”
“After we get better established, there’ll be more opportunity to hire people. If we lose the Pilgrims we’ll also need to brace for a lawsuit, which would sink us. They’re crazy, but not stupid.”
What would Samuel’s news coverage make of this incident if he found out? Hell, he’d probably get good theater out of Duke’s expulsion if they could arrange it. Garrett could picture people back home judging him. Any future prospects for improving this place depended not just on his engineering work, but on the cooperation of others. Like it or not, he had to consider how people would react to his performance.
He wrote, “This is a place of peaceful co-existence where the ability to work matters more than your beliefs. We welcome people of all ideologies, if they extend the same respect to others.”
Martin read the words and grunted approvingly. “That’s our press release draft, then.”
Tess looked puzzled. “What about tolerance? People will say we’re intolerant if there’s any condition on accepting people.”
Garrett wrote, “Let them. I won’t tolerate Wahabis or neo-Nazis any more than I will a man who gets off by hurting emotionally vulnerable women. They’re the same, and they’re a threat to others.”
Tess scrawled, “But that doesn’t work. You can’t pick and choose who to accept, or we’ll look like hatemongers.”
Garrett was incredulous. “What is this, kindergarten? I remember how in lower school we couldn’t start a club unless we let anyone join. You saw what they did! Do you want Duke gone or not?”
“Well yeah, duh, but we need an official reason. We can’t argue it in terms of morals, ’cause whose morals would it be?”
Garrett put down his pen and spoke. “Mine. Let people say what they like.”
The discussion with Phillip was civil. Garrett called for Castor’s population of dozens to meet in Dockside, and they hashed things out as adults who needed each other. They mostly shut Duke up and had Zephyr play his own words back at him.
Garrett was sitting on a plastic cooler; there weren’t enough chairs. As Phillip prepared to declare Duke an outcast, Garrett stood and seized the moment. “Let’s vote.”
“Excuse me?” asked Phillip, caught in mid-bombast.
“A bit of ancient Greek tradition: Ostracism. How many of you think ‘Brother Duke’ here ought to leave?”
At first no one moved, and Garrett’s heart skipped a beat; had he miscalculated, by trying to make this negotiation secular? Martin raised a hand, as did Tess and Zephyr, but he was still very outvoted. Maybe Duke had won the Pilgrims’ loyalty behind the scenes!
Phillip said, “It’s all right, everyone. I’d like to hear your opinion.”
And slowly, everyone’s hand rose but Duke’s.
Duke hissed. “I put heart and soul into the Confederacy and this is how you repay me? Well, I don’t need any of you and the fact is — the fact is I tricked you all! I never believed in your nonsense! I’m going back to civilization.”
Garrett gave him a broad, toothy smile. “Shut up.” To the others he said, “Who’d like to escort Mr. Duke back to shore?”
This time many hands went up without Phillip’s prompting.
11. Noah
He had no money, no house and no family, and he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He hadn’t known it was possible to go so far, to ride a plane out of the country to a sunny island and know he had something to do.
When Noah told Ford he was moving out, the man’s eyes got wide. “That sounds dangerous!”
“I can take care of myself.”
Noah had his whole life in his backpack. Ford said, “You’re a good man, Noah. I believe you. But it’s going to be tough out there. Why not stay here where you’re at least safe?”
“I can’t. I’d die.” A thought struck Noah. “Why don’t you come along? Ditch this place.”
Ford shook his head. “If no one stays, there won’t be anything left. I’m trying to help people and make money doing it.”
Noah shrugged. “If you change your mind, I’ll be out there. I’ll help if I can.”
“Thanks. Drop me a line sometime.”
They shook hands. Noah was amazed to find he missed the Crypt already.
He was overwhelmed by Castor when he got there, despite all the pictures he’d seen. The boss of the place was a big guy who didn’t seem too sure of himself, but who filled Noah’s head with talk of fish and robots and swimming, a world of stuff Noah needed to learn. By nightfall he’d gotten sorted out and was sprawled in his new room, smaller even than his old apartment. It was enough; he had the whole ocean. He could hear it whispering. He felt useless laying on his cot, though every muscle ached and his brain felt ready to explode. He went outside to get a better feel for the place.
A nice night with a warm breeze, as the fall weather muted the muggy heat at last. When he looked up he found more stars than he’d ever seen. He swayed on his feet, suddenly terrified. He’d traded everything away, given up the security of his life and the days of dancing on the rooftop, to come to the middle of nowhere for a job with no guarantees of anything. What now? he asked himself. What do I do? There was God to orient him, but all he’d gotten since that sleepless night the job offer came was, Go.
Noah thought, I want to see everything. I want to see how far I can go. He walked the deck, not knowing why there were tears in his eyes. He found the ladder on the side of the deckhouse and climbed, so he could stand up in the powerful wind and know where he was, know that this place was home.
When Noah reached the top and saw the roof, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was sitting there, watching the stars.
12. Tess
She woke up sweaty. Her tiny room felt confining after — what was it?
Tess snatched pen and paper from a shelf and scrawled what she remembered of her dream. The memory faded as she wrote, turning her thoughts into ink. Then she took the headset and put it on. “Good morning,” she said without making a sound. She was getting good with the subvocalizer.
The headset’s eyepiece showed the lab, strewn with tools. “Hello,” said Zephyr. Bits of his thoughts whispered to her. More efficient this way — redesign it.
Tess reacted with the quick assessments they’d practiced. Ask the tribe for help? — profit potential maybe. She shook her head and switched to her normal sub-voice. “What’re you working on?”
Open-source to get improvements? “Power buoys. Here’s the design.” Schematics flashed before her and the chatter was rapid-fire.
The dream — but first this — old designs — yeah, look — electricity from wind and waves — useful! — cost per watt though — hence redesign — we’re using a bad segment for this part — right, damn — like that, yeah — looks like a torpedo — evolve it further? Tess blinked and used robot hands to tap commands into the lab computers, telling them to mutate and test their buoy design a few hundred times.