«Damn,» said Mike. There didn't seem to be much else to say. Then another thought hit him. «Hey, what about all —«
«The zoos?» Karen interjected. «And animal parks?»
«Yeah,» Sharon agreed. «What about them? I remember something about Zoo Atlanta only being able to keep the gorillas.»
«There are a couple of big parks in Florida that have taken in some of the animals,» Karen said. «The herbivores are free roaming and more or less making it. Most of the carnivores have had to be put down. And anything that can't get into one of the reserve parks is getting put down.»
«That's not right,» Mike said. «We've got an obligation to those animals! They didn't exactly ask to be put in zoos.»
«You're preaching to the choir,» said Karen sadly. «We've been writing Congress, the President, everybody. But the responses we've gotten have a point. With shortages for humans, where are we going to get food for the animals?»
«Daddy, get real,» said Cally, rolling onto her back, then flipping to her feet in the most limber move Mike had ever seen in his life. «It's an obligation, not a suicide pact. Once you kick the Posties' ass, we can gather them back up and recover whatever we find. Until then, we gotta concentrate.» She rubbed the small of her back. «Shit. I forgot about the Walther.»
«Showoff,» Mike laughed. He shook his head. «I suppose you're right, kitten. It still pisses me off.»
«Softy,» said Sharon with a smile and gave him a thump on the shoulder.
Karen smiled at the byplay then turned to Cally. «You want to swim with Shirlie?» she asked.
«Sure!» said Cally with a grin. «That'd be spar!»
«Go get a suit,» Karen said, and smiled as the girl scampered off. «Harry and I don't really think children are a good idea,» she commented without looking at them as Cally went around the corner.
Mike grimaced. «I can understand that.»
«She carries a pistol with her?» Karen asked, carefully.
«You don't?» Mike snorted. «Yeah. And she knows how to use it. She also knows all about firearm safety. Don't worry about Cally; Dad's turning her into a survivor.»
«Our other daughter is off-planet,» Sharon said, quietly. She was looking at the dolphin racing around the small harbor. «Could I join you?» she asked.
«Sure!» said Karen. «The more the merrier. The boys'll probably show up around ten, after they're done foraging. Shirlie's just so lazy she'd rather be fed.» Karen turned to Mike. «What about you? Want to join us?»
«Maybe later,» Mike said. «I think I'm gonna go try to butter Harry up. You guys have got a couple of cases of hooks coming.»
Karen exhaled in relief at that the thought. «That would be great. You don't have any idea how bad it's been lately.»
«Yeah,» growled Mike. «We've got a few things to thank the Posleen for.»
* * *
Mike set the case of fishhooks on the counter and smiled. «There's another case in the Tahoe, and the other stuff. I've also got a Number-Ten can of coffee, but you can't have all of it.»
Harry shook his head and smiled faintly. «You sure know how to make friends,» he said. He opened the case and pulled out a box of hooks. «We've been making them out of nails and tearing up lures. But, believe it or not, we've got coffee.»
Mike reached behind his back and extracted a hip flask. «I've got some of this out in the Tahoe, too.» He took a hit and passed it to Harry. «I'll even give some of it up for some goddamn explanations.»
Harry regarded the clear liquid carefully. «Well, it's a little early,» he said, then took a swig. He grimaced and coughed. «Oh! Smooth!» he gasped. «Jesus, what is that?»
«Georgia Mountain Dew,» Mike answered with a laugh. «Only the finest. Now what the hell is going on around here?»
* * *
Mike had never had a conch omelet before. He had to admit it wasn't bad, but the thought would take a little getting used to. He scraped up the last of the grits and wiped his mouth with the provided hand towel. The Key did indeed have coffee, and Mike had to admit that wherever it came from it was better than the issue can he had with him. He took another sip of the excellent brew and cleared his throat.
«So let me get this straight. All fuel is rationed. Okay, got that; it's that way all over. Fuel for the boats is rationed on the basis of their production. High-producing boats get more fuel.»
«Right-on so far,» said Harry, taking a sip of the java as well.
«And power to the islands has been out for months. So you have to have a generator to distill the water and make the ice. And the fuel for the icehouse has to come out of the pool of fuel for the boats?»
«Right.»
«And every month the price of the fish has gone down along with the fuel ration.»
«Yep,» said Harry. «Next month there won't possibly be enough fuel for all the boats and to make ice. If we can't store the fish until the trucks arrive, we might as well give up.»
«What about the stuff you've been holding back?» asked Mike, carefully.
Harry was cool. «What stuff?» he said, blandly.
Mike laughed and held up his wrist to reveal the AID. «My AID analyzed satellite imagery of this place for the last year. It says you're holding back about twenty percent of your production.»
Harry grimaced and nodded. «Yeah. But that goes to a lot of places. It's not really . . . available.»
«Maybe you'd better make it available,» said Mike, quietly. Hoarding was becoming a real problem as more and more people reacted to the coming invasion with a panic mentality.
Harry sighed. «If we did that it would take away the only things that make working here worth living.» He paused and thought about it for a moment. «The spare isn't just in fish. It's in stuff that's more transportable. It's in dried conch and lobster tails. Shells. Stuff like that.»
«What the hell do you use that for?» asked Mike.
«Trade goods, partly,» Harry answered, holding up the cup of coffee. «There are small traders who move stuff around the islands and up to the mainland. Conch keeps for a long time. There's a market for it in Florida. The traders get stuff in Miami you can't get in places like Cuba and bring back rum and coffee.»
«Oh,» said Mike, nodding his head. He was aware that the shortages had created a thriving black market, but this was almost like pioneer days. It sounded like a triangle trade.
«Some of it goes to the dolphins,» Harry pointed out. «They do a lot of their own foraging, but we still eke out their feed. And we do a little dealing on the side with the general goods trader that comes through.» He grimaced again. «The damn thief.»
«That bad?» asked Mike.
«Half the stuff he carries he'll only sell at black market prices. He'll have two cases of corn flour, but officially it's only one case. Once the first case is sold the rest sells at whatever the market will bear.»
«Damn,» said Mike with a stronger than habitual frown. «That's not the way it's supposed to work.»
«There's not enough fuel for us to go up to Miami every week or even every month. So we have to depend on the one 'official' trader or the free traders. But the free traders are totally black market and there's no way to be sure what they're going to be carrying.»
«And every month the price of the stuff is going up and the price of the fish is going down,» said Mike sourly.
«Right,» Harry said with the same tone. He looked like he'd bitten a Key lime.
Mike nodded in thought. He had had a thought the night before but it was firming up now. «Let me ask you this, Harry. What happens if you take the icehouse out of the equation?»
«What do you mean?» asked Harry. «We have to run the generator to keep the fish iced. Besides that, the distiller is our only consistent source of fresh water. We can't take it out of the equation.»