Thank you for advice. As for language, it is Finnish. Yet another engineer to find his way into the forum...



Indeed, but then we have to again take into account the general makeup of people in the forum. I would out of personal estimate guess that IQ in the forum is a bit above the average of any given country. That makes situation more difficult, smart people start questioning things much earlier than your average person.



Of course, I never would deny that. But I stand behind my conclusion that Packer was very right at trying to push the issue sooner rather than later.
Longer it takes for the change, less likely it is to be smooth and peaceful.



Oh, if the Council did suddenly vote yes, I would find it horrible writing. It is one of things I hate in life. People acting just WAY too altruistically for their own good.



Oh, I do not blame them either. I would in same situation most likely be very eager to keep the perks myself.
And I do not think real issue is armed guard but the lack of the council restrictions.

Being unable to go and fraternizing with ladies is something person can understand and accept in situation we have here, but having some people being granted free access, essentially, is going to create lots of bad blood. And desire for payback.



Sorry, I got bit mixed up. My soft landing referred to return to democracy. In some chapters we see how the Council speaks on how it would be implemented "eventually" but we all know pretty well that longer it takes for "eventual" to materialize, less likely it is to ever do so.

I am myself also willing to bet that the Council has at least few people who figure out that situation is heading for disaster... And if they are wily enough, they are right now trying to set up someone to end up taking the blame. Because I myself, if put to situation of average joe in Nantucket, would not be happy with "just" re-establishment of democracy.


And GrandMasterTerwyn.

I would not necessarily see women as driving force of power structure.

Way I see it is that the Den Mothers make sure Concilman Bob will find partner if and when he wants. I would imagine that the Den Mothers wield great deal of influence over the females of the island, being able to direct them towards "desirable" outcomes.

The council in turn listens to Den Mothers when they have something to say and grant them preferentail treatment as well.

The Council HAS the muscle to take down the Den Mothers, but that would cause the girls get very upset and would make things more difficult for Bob. So there exists unspoken agreement of mutual assistance.

Oh, I understand the logic quite well. As a Councilman I think I'd be rooting for the Eagle's success, because I do not want us to land so softly that we lose the ability to maintain a steel-hulled sailing ship. A landing that soft is more of a splat, and I wouldn't want us to go down in the new world history as a very strange analogue of Easter Island.

At the very least we need to remember that we had a technological civilization, and if we give up its artifacts entirely that's a tricky proposition.

The flip side of that is that they're likely to be smart and educated enough to see the logical implications of starting a civil war in a low-margin society. They're not going to want a war, not in sufficient numbers to be reasonably confident of getting one and winning it. If there's only fifty hotheads on the island, they're not a rebellion, they're a crime wave.

If he'd had the tactical savvy to organize his efforts properly first, I'd agree. As it was, he had the right idea but the way he carried it out was so wrong that he may have sabotaged his own objective.

...Life, or fiction?

The soft landing everyone else is talking about is a technological infrastructure issue.

Also, keep in mind that many of the Council and many of the Den Mothers are relatively senior members of this forum: they're friends, not just political factions.

The Council wants things to stay orderly, and that requires the support of the Den Mothers and the Watch. The Watch is very reliable, and is run by people who believe in civilian control of the military... that leaves the Den Mothers to be appeased. While they don't have all the power by any stretch of the imagination, the fact that they have substantial membership on the Council in their own right, and influence over all the other members of the Council, makes them a major power bloc.

And they're likely to be one with decisive power when the council is divided (as it was over Packer's Charter proposal- the Den Mothers wound up opposing that, for reasons we've already heard). They may also have been important, if not critical, in the decision to send the Eagle to Europe: think about what success there could mean for them. Successful trade with Europe means a few runs bringing women back to the island, and setting up an overseas presence where the most, ah, ardent men on the island can expect to find women. That takes a lot of pressure off the Den Mothers.

---

This space dedicated to Vasily Arkhipov.

Again, smart people are not going to sit idly and let oligarchy run things for very long.
They do not want war, but even less they want to be the peons they are being set up to be, people know far too well how joyful the life of average peon was in former feudal societies.
Those 50 hotheads are the spark which blows up the rest.

After all, they are smart enough to know that the Council knows what are implications of civil war in low-margin society. Is the Council prepared to go for double or nothing and risk war when pressure gets high enough?



He was ideologist who thought others are ideologists as well. In a sense, he is biggest threat to the Council because of that, he sees things through ideological glasses instead of practical ones. But that also makes him in many ways example to the rest of people, who easily start to see him as larger than life figure setting forth path to be followed, even blindly.

After all, what matters in fighting for support of people perceptions are important. The Council, despite perhaps best intentions, might give out an image of corrupt oligarchy, further enforced by badly thought out or badly presented actions (like female companions).

Packer on other hand was pretty much torn away at high popularity. He never had chance to fail in eyes of others, besides the Council as far as we speak of his proposed changes. He may have become Nantuckets Che Guevara in a sense.




Fiction... *sigh*



True, but I am not certain how many of them are good friends outside forum.
How we relate to one another in forum, in situation where we are fully in control of how often and how we interact, is in my view unlikely to remain same when stranded to Nantucket.

Of course, only way to know for certain would be to perform empirical experiment but I have my doubts on amount of volunteers to be found.




Then again, the Den Mothers have also good reason to oppose sending Eagle. Right now they control extremely limited and incredibly valuable commodity. If women become as commonplace as they are in our time, sorry ladies for turning you into commodity but blame the authors , the Den Mothers lose their biggest bargaining chip.

Which is why the Council is so aggressive about dealing with the really obnoxious troublemakers. Think about what happens if you do something to really offend the Council? You get sent to Muskeget Island. Which is a spit of land about as far from Nantucket as you can get without going to Martha's Vineyard. It requires a really good navigator, or specialized shallow-draught boats to get to (of which there are several in Nantucket's harbor, which were built to ferry tourists out to Muskeget to see the gray seals.) You're out there alone, and you get just enough supplies for an unpleasant camping trip, but the chances are just as good that you'll die of exposure. If you're not there, you get to go demolish houses, cut down trees, dig ditches . . . all sorts of things to get useful work out of you while leaving you too tired to make trouble.


The Council controls all the women, most of the guys who know how to use guns, and all the guns. Mind you, as Nantucket was a rich white enclave in 'anti-gun' Massachusetts, the firepower edge would be worn down quickly by a sustained revolt . . . but the rebels would really take it to the chin in the meantime.


Which is why he's sent off on a mission that is, ostensibly, for the good of Nantucket . . . but is really a science experiment designed to end in his demise. Even though he hasn't died (yet,) it was a choice that would've worked out fantastically for the Council . . . had one of those who decided to secretly desert the island not run into Packer. When that man came back and told his story, that transformed Packer from this person who sailed west into the mists of Nantucket's future mythology . . . into this larger-than-life icon of the rebellion.


Look at it from the outside. Here's Packer, agitating for a change in government. Then he thinks better of it, recants, and decides to take the Council's offer at a shot of even greater glory . . . to be Nantucket's pathfinder onto the mainland. Those who don't think too deeply beyond general cynicism will go "that Packer was all bark and no bite after all. Just wanted to get his own shot at personal glory. Well fuck him and the horse he rode in in." Those who have deeper thoughts will realize that Packer may have been coerced into abandoning his call for democracy. They'll tell others about it, sure. But the people who inhabit this board have a deep-set antipathy towards tinfoil-hat conspiracy-theorist nutjobs. So the notion that the Council swept up Packer and threatened him into leaving the island will be dismissed.


If you do a search, you will find that more than a few board members have met in real life. Even more communicate regularly through IM or off-board chat.


The only way we could possibly address the severe gender imbalance in any timeframe the modern women and Den Mothers would consider to be remotely threatening to their own power-base would be to build a sixteenth century slaver ship and stuff it full of Bronze Age women. The number of women that could possibly be brought back by the Eagle before she breaks in a way that we can't repair wouldn't be enough to do more than put a dent in the gender imbalance. Indeed, the rational thing to do would be to build a SD-net enclave in the Mediterranean and export young men there to make their futures.

Well, last post until I settle down waiting for story to take next twist...



And on the grassroot level this can be perceived as the Council trying to stomp down on criticism, which it of course on one level is. Which will fan the flames of discontent instead of damping them.

It also drives the unhappiness underground, which leads to need to have good intel and moles in groups telling to the Council who is starting to get too unhappy. Which in turn would easily lead to social structure of Nantucket tearing itself apart as nobody could trust anybody anymore.

I personally don't think such deeply suspicious group could remain cohesive society for long.



Of course, no doubt about the Council having ability to kill lots of rebels. But at what price?
Every killed man is two less hands to work and one step closer to collapse of society.

And what do the plebes have to lose? Mainly their lives. And if people do not have much more to lose than their lives, they eventually no longer give a shit about losing it.

History is filled with people who have little more than their life to lose going up against impossible odds. These are the rebellions which are crushed, but the Council cannot afford crush many rebellions before Nantucket starts to slip away from viable community.



Yes, deep antipathy but also tendency to be critical. And whole lot of cynical mindset to top it up.
After all, it does not take incredibly cynical person to notice how Packer went from firebrand to meek in a very short time and soon after that leaves for parts unknown.

I would myself guess that whole lot of people would think there is something really fishy going on regarding Packer, but without trigger they are content to do nothing. This is, however, group who are more likely to join up the next preacher demanding democracy.



Ok, it is going to work for them. Assuming their personalities under heavy stress do not turn out to be very conflicting.



Hmm. True, still Med ladies would not naturally fall under control of the Den Mothers which would hurt their position slightly. But admittably not much.

As for enclaves elsewhere... How far could SDN crew be spread until it loses any significance? If purpose is to try to maintain as much of technological progress as possible, trying to keep everyone close together would make more sense. If SDN was spread all over, it gets much more likely that none of the groups will make large enough impact on their home to maintain any level of progress over surrounding areas. Specially when Eagle finally breaks down and strands European portion of SDN to it's own devices.

While core of knowledge would remain in Nantucket, it too would suffer from loss of modern thinkers if people kept leaving. Best way in my view to try to get most out of the situation is to bring as much women as possible to Nantucket and make it starting point of new, proud SDN empire, expanding to mainland which could be accessible without need for modern technology.

Oligarchy or death- which is the smart pick?

That's not a question with a trivial answer; if it is, I suspect the answer isn't the one you want. Especially not when (and this is important) there is still the realistic prospect of something better happening without them having to do anything dangerous.

Yes, but having corresponded for years builds a basis for mutual respect and understanding. Look at what's actually been written: the Council and the Den Mothers are not enemies. They're not even rivals. In some cases they're the same people. They interlock- the Den Mothers have the best reasons anyone can possibly have to want order, and the Council provides order. It's a win-win situation as far as they're concerned, at least in the short to medium term.

This ties into my first comment. The Den Mothers face the prospect of a loss of power when they no longer have such a sturdy power base... or death when the social structure eventually falls apart. 3000 men and 200 women is not a stable equilibrium; it's not even a stable basis for a sustainable population.

Loss of power, or death? Which is the smart choice?

Hmm. I'd be inclined to do both. Exporting enough men off the island to level the gender imbalance that way leaves Nantucket without an adequate labor force, and there are assets on the island that cannot be moved. So you need to be bringing people back over to keep the numbers up... and they might as well be women. But no, not packed to the gunwales, and on the eastbound trip you're carrying the young men.

Building trans-Atlantic sailing ships is probably within the capacity of the assets we have on the island. The real problem (one that didn't apply in the original Island in the Sea of Time novels) is a lack of people with even limited sailing experience to officer those ships. The first few voyages of the Eagle are going to help with that. A lot.

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This space dedicated to Vasily Arkhipov.

Ok, I'll quit right after this one. Right...



Is there?

Look what took place when last guy decided to speak up about having system changed so that there is more accountability for leaders?

He suddenly had change of heart and then left out for a trip to mainland.



I never tried to imply that they are enemies, merely trying to point out opposite. They are very strongly dependent on one another as groups. The Council could not stomp on the Den Mothers without bad repercussions, the Den Mothers need the Council to make certain their position is secure.



Probably?

Excuse me, could everyone in forum who knows how to build viable sailing ship capable of safely crossing the Atlantic ocean with limited tools raise their hands?

Any shipwrights here?

I seriously doubt this forum has ready knowledge and skill to build for example simple caravel capable of making the ocean crossing. At least yet. Of course there is option of using whatever stuff is available from modern stock, but it is going to be one frankenship I would not want to risk my life with when trying to cross Atlantic without any safety nets (as in, other ships) and weather gauge limited to visual confirmation.

If there are big ships in harbor besides Eagle capable of making the trip, it is another thing. But if ship has to be built first, it is going to be way too big risk to send people out on ships cobbled up together without long experience on building viable ships. If it is built using modern equipment, it has to reliably make two trips, because there is no guarantee that any damage taken during first voyage is easily repaired using more limited tech base in Spain. If it is built to be possible to repair with bronze age tech level, it has to be built somewhat similar to caravel. And I do not think anyone in forum knows how to build one from scratch, even with books to help.

Reliable ship could be built, but it takes years of work even with existing knowledge if none of board members is eager shipbuilder who already has years of experience on the field. Else it will be years during which ships are built and tried near coastal waters before knowledge of their building and using is mature enough to risk ocean crossing. Portugal which honed the concept of caravel initially used it mostly to chart out coast of Africa. And many enough ships were lost despite them having used years to build ships of similar style and their captains and crews had extensive experience on sailing.

So if they start that project on day 300, how many trips Eagle would have left in it before running out of fuel or breaking up permanently?

If you listen to Packer (or his fans) over everyone else, this is true. We do, because we're privy to a lot of what's going on behind the scenes.

In story, the Council did a pretty thorough job of trying to discredit Packer: at best he's a fanatic who tried to rush the council's political overthrow.

Remember, the Council still says "we will switch to democracy when things are safe and stable." You might think they're lying; a number of people won't. For that matter, it may actually be true; there are Council members who voted against Packer's charter proposal because they thought it was too soon, not because they wanted to set themselves up as oligarchs. And the vote was only 17 to 13 even with them against it.

To you, the Council's actions may look like a blatant move to secure personal power at the expense of all else. To the people actually on the island, that impression isn't going to pop up overnight... it takes time, and we start to see things fall apart around Day 300, as more and more people try to get away from their control and as arrests start becoming more common. The Council's inevitable reactions based on the fear of having the whole thing fall apart isn't helping, either.
_________

What I'm getting at is that talking about the Council stomping on the Den Mothers even as a plausible tactic to be considered is... out of line with the realities. It's like talking about the parliament "stomping on" the judiciary in a functioning democracy: it doesn't happen, because neither side has any logical reason or desire to try.

I actually wouldn't be surprised if they did. I can't prove it, but while knowledge of sailing ships is rare, it isn't nonexistent, and there are a lot of people here with detailed background knowledge of arcane subjects. The ship might be suboptimal, but I wouldn't be at all surprised to see it work.

Again, I cannot prove this; it is merely an intuition that we have enough of the relevant skill set to build something suitable.

Since the Eagle is a sailing ship, with an iron hull designed to last decades... it could easily last quite a while if handled and maintained carefully. See here.

---

This space dedicated to Vasily Arkhipov.

Hey guys took a break from this story to start school and beat Mass Effect 2. Just got back to it and wound up reading till after 3am on a school night, boy is it gonna suck in the morning! Just gotta say you guys are some pretty good writers and I'm really enjoying this! Keep up the good work.

Also thanks for putting me in the story, just gotta say though; if anyone on the watch is sympathetic to Packer and the Charter it's me. I'm not super outspoken, so don't expect me at any rallies unless it's in order to secure the "peace". However you can be sure I'd be talking about it to the other guys on post or during a patrol. Hell if you want I might not even see a couple of guys slipping away from a rally we (the goons) are breaking up.

If any of the authors want to PM me about idea's for my character I'd be honored to help.

Thanks and once again keep up the excellent writing!!

Edit for 3am typos.

Bah, nevermind.

I've got this idea in my head for a scene involving my character that just won't go away... aargh.

Is it all right if I PM the idea to the major writers here to see what they think?

---

This space dedicated to Vasily Arkhipov.

Yes, it would be most welcome!

Day 320, Morning, Cape Cod

Packer waited on the beach for Miles and Kevin to show up. He'd seen them awake a little earlier, but they'd wanted to have a bit to eat, first. And why not? How awkward could a post-sex breakfast be if you couldn't speak your erstwhile lover's language?

Packer chuckled to himself. Saying that Miles and Kevin might get some wasn't an outright guarantee--rather, it was an extrapolation. Sex was a huge topic of conversation amongst the men: how best to get your wife pregnant, what positions felt good for you, what felt good for her, and so on. Packer was, of course, party to many such bull sessions, but to his surprise, his contributions hadn't introduced anything radically new to the tribe--besides kissing, that is. Oral sex was old hat, though there were innumerable arguments about how best to practice it.

At any rate, since sex was on the men's minds, Packer assumed--correctly--that a similar amount of discussion went on among the women. Nara had confirmed this when he'd asked a month or so ago, and she'd also mentioned about how she was badgered about Packer's skill. They wanted to know everything. At first, he'd been embarrassed by the thought of Nara blabbing about their sex life to strangers, but he quickly caught himself: there were no strangers here. What's more, having a good sex life helped the entire tribe; more sex meant more babies, of course, but more good sex meant happier people.

Packer then spotted Miles and Kevin picking their way out of the marshes and stepping onto the beach proper. "Morning, studs!" Packer called out. Miles responded with a thumbs' up.

"I think I'm in love," Miles crooned when they met. "Oh, sweet Jesus, what a night that was! I thought I'd never get some again!" Kevin, for his part, was quiet, distant.

Packer said, "Well, I'm glad you had fun."

"Fun?!" Miles laughed. "I swear, I must've eaten her pussy for an hour and a half! I played it like a damn harmonica!" He swatted Packer on the chest playfully. "I think I'm gonna come back here with you and Nara next spring!"

Packer grinned, then turned to Kevin. "What's the matter, don't kiss and tell?"

Kevin snapped to. "No, it's just...well, who the hell else is gonna know? Last night was my first time."

Packer and Miles exchanged a look. "Well," Miles roared in a pleasant way, "welcome to the club! How do you feel?"

"Honestly?" Miles and Packer nodded, though Packer only nodded a single time and had a suppress a laugh at Miles' bobbing head. Kevin went on: "I can't believe I spent so much time thinking about it. Now that it's done, I'm like, 'give me all those years of my life that I spent fretting about it back!' I'm just worried," he looked at Packer, "that I didn't measure up, you know?"

Packer stuck his bottom lip out thoughtfully. "Did you tell her it was your first time? By the way, who did you end up with again? I was kinda distracted after the Sing Story ended."

And what a hit the Sing Story had been. With three actors, the climactic showdown between Skywalker, Vader, and the Emperor(Great Elder) had taken on an all new dimension. Now, when Packer had writhed on the ground, screaming Father, please! at an impassive Miles while Kevin mimicked Force Lightning, the audience went ballistic, jumping up and down, gesturing wildly and bellowing at Miles to do something!

And Miles apparently had a flair for the dramatic, because he had apparently known exactly how long to pause before delivering a solid, pulled punch to Kevin. As they had discussed before the performance, Kevin crumpled to the ground, and Packer and Miles picked him up and threw him over the bench, which stood for the edge of the shaft inside the Death Star (known to the tribe, of course, as the village-eating Death Turtle, with the shaft being the Death Turtle's throat). They had tried to deposit Kevin gently, but they didn't try too hard. Then came the great escape from the mouth of the Death Turtle, Vader's tearful redemption (Miles and Kevin spoke their lines in English, of course), and Skywalker's escape aboard his three-winged falcon.

Their audience loved it even more than when Packer had told it the first time, many weeks ago. They howled with approval, and immediately afterwards, Miles and Kevin were fairly mobbed by girls trying to get their attention. It was no longer a question of if they were getting laid, it was a matter of when and with whom they'd be spending the night.

"Dera," Kevin answered. "It was Dera. I mean, I tried to tell her, but...well, I dunno, she probably knew. I'm sure I was shaking like a leaf. She didn't seem too nervous. I don't think this was her first time."

"No, probably not," Packer said idly. They were now strolling down the beach. Some fishermen were putting their boats in the water, nets and spears ready. They waved; Packer and his friends waved back. "Like I said, sex is a skill to be learned, and learned through practice. And it appears that once you hit fourteen or so, you start practicing."

"But surely, there must be accidents!" Kevin said. "I mean, babies."

"There are, and don't call me Shirley." Packer made the joke automatically, and he ignored it as much as Kevin and Miles did. "They practice serial monogamy; going from one pairing to another. If someone gets knocked up, it's pretty easy to figure out who the daddy is. There's no pressure to marry, though. There is no such thing as an illegitimate child out here. Kids are kids. But anyway, how was it?"

"Good," Kevin said, "I mean, real good. I was so nervous that I didn't even blow my load right away, like they say that you do your first time. But I'm sure it wasn't very good for her."

"It's OK," Miles said. "Everyone is terrible at it their first time out. Hell, you're terrible at it your hundreth time. Packer's right. It's a skill, and it needs to be practiced. That's why I spent so much time munching Yerna's rug last night. I wanted to make sure I hadn't forgotten how." He grinned.

"Yeah, we can still see the pubes in your teeth, ya fuckin' wank," Packer fired back in a chummy way.

Miles laughed. "I could honestly care less if there were."

"Yeah, how did you...you know, deal with all that hair?" Kevin asked. He then turned to Packer. "How do you do it?"

Packer shrugged. "Kevin, if you could see how goddamn hairy my nuts are right now, you'd understand that I'm in no position to complain."

"Right on," Miles said. "Besides, I kinda liked it. Reminded my of my dad's old porno tapes from back in the day. Very retro. You just gotta go with the flow, man."

They were then quiet for a while, watching the gentle swells of Cape Cod Bay catch the sunlight. "Well, I guess we should stop talking about fun stuff," Packer said. "Let's do some planning."

"Yeah," Kevin said. "Why don't you guys come back with us now? We can make it to Madaket harbor by nightfall, right Miles?"

"Sure," Miles confirmed. "We'll be a little cramped in the boat, but the weather's perfect. Wind'll be good, too. And timing is just right. Things are starting to get a little flaky. You come back now, Packer, you can really do some damage."

"No," Packer replied instantly and firmly. "For one, I don't want to cause damage. I never did. The harvest is more important. Let that occur in relative harmony. And further, it's not the right time. I told you that the village kind of disbands for the winter, right? Well, that doesn't happen until autumn hits, and that's not gonna be for a couple weeks yet. Maybe longer. It's been a hot summer on Cape Cod."

"It's been nice on Nantucket," Miles said. "Couple of hot nights, but nothing too bad."

"At any rate," Packer continued, "I want the harvest in and done before I even think about showing up. I want people to know that, whatever else happens, there's enough food to last the winter. Agreed?"

"Fine by me," Miles said.

"We're wondering how much of that food is gonna come our way on Martha's Vineyard," Kevin said a bit unhappily. "We only have a small crop. But, you make sense. After the harvest it'll be."

"Alright," Packer said. "So, we're not leaving until my family has left. From what I've gotten out of them, they leave sometime in the middle of October, though it might be later. Once they're on their way, Nara and I can go."

"Hmm, well," Miles said. "It's the 15th now. Middle of October's thirty days away...tack on ten more to be safe...October 25th sound good? The harvest will definitely be in by then."

"Sounds good," Packer said.

"You'll probably beat the Eagle back, too," Kevin added. "They were planning on being back the first of November or thereabouts, last I heard. Trying to time it so they landed on Arrival Day. Oh, that's officially a holiday, by the way."

"Yippee," Packer muttered.

"So, I gotta ask what the plan is," Miles interjected. "Jason's gonna want to know. Probably begin some preparations of this or that sort. Start marshaling the troops."

Packer frowned. Uh oh. "Well, I have some ideas," he began, "but I really need to see things firsthand. As more immediate concerns go, I want to sail in under the cover of darkness, preferably in the dead of night. We go straight to the hospital after that--Nara and myself, that is. If you can arrange an escort to get us from the harbor to the hospital, that'd be even better."

Kevin cocked his head. "Wait, is she sick or something?"

"Or something," Packer confirmed. "She's pregnant. That's the main reason I'm bringing her; I don't want her giving birth to my son or daughter in a freezing cave somewhere in the Massachusetts hinterland."

For what seemed like the umpteenth time, Kevin and Miles were both agog. Kevin sputtered, "Wow, uh, I didn't...congratulations, Packer!"

"Yeah, well done, old man!" Miles said, clapping Packer on his shoulder.

"Thanks, guys. Do keep that under wraps. Actually, don't even tell anyone about Nara. If word gets out that I'm bringing a native woman back with me, the Council is gonna be slipping on its collective drool in its zeal to nab me. I think, if they think I'm coming back alone, they'll probably look to capture me in their own time--probably wait for me to make the first move."

"I dunno," Kevin began. "I would think they're gonna be real interested in you."

"Oh, no doubt," Packer said. "But if they show interest in me, it means that I have leverage over them. I have something that they want: information, and shitton of it. It's better to let me simmer for a few days, see what I do. They're probably hoping that I start up rallies and strikes and shit, so they can go to war and take me down, once and for all."

"Are you going to do that?" Miles asked.

"Don't know," Packer lied. "Like I said, I have to see conditions on the ground before I decide. Don't worry. I got contingencies." He shook his head. "Anyway. October 25th. We'll be on the western side at the mouth of the inlet you traveled up. Look for our signal fire starting around noonish. That's solar noon, not whatever the hell time it is you're keeping. It's going to be the two of us, a few bags of our stuff, and our weapons. I want to leave about an hour before sunset and travel through the night, weather permitting. Miles, you think you can get us back to Nantucket in the darkness?"

Miles grunted. "I won't lie, it's a bigger risk than I'd like to take. Nantucket is as goddamn dark as the ocean until you're right on top of it. They don't use the lighthouse unless there's a reason to. What I'm hoping is that they'll be using it to potentially guide the Eagle, in case it's coming back early. Failing that, if the weather's good, I can do it. As long as the currents stay predictable, we just need to point ourselves southish."

"Good," Packer said. "Alright, well, you guys are free to stay here as long as you like, or at least as long as you think is prudent. Mi tribe es su tribe." He then grinned. "Though, I'm fairly sure they're gonna want another Sing Story from us tonight."

Day 173, Night, Nantucket

"That fucking prick!" Kaley Richards howled as she threw open the door to her room. She knew that it was officially quiet hours at the Point Breeze Hotel, and she also knew that she didn't give two shits if the whole goddamn floor heard her.

Her roommate, who was up studying manpower tables or productivity trends or some other insufferable collection of statistics, looked up from the pile of papers on her desk. Her name was Hannah Montross, and she was a sensible, plain, bespectacled girl of twenty-two who hailed from Vancouver back in the future.

"Date didn't go well?" Hannah asked Kaley in her pleasant Western Canadian accent(which was actually remarkably similar to Kaley's Denver accent).

Kaley responded by growling inarticulately. She couldn't even remember when she'd last been this mad. She then made several false starts at explaining: "I...he...that asshole said...he's gonna...I'll be in the shower!"

Hannah's eyes widened a bit at this, but Kaley turned and stomped off to the bathroom, stripping off her clothes as she went. The boiler that granted the Point Breeze Hotel hot water was only turned on between the hours of five and nine AM, and, large boilers being large, that meant that the optimum time to show was about between eight and noon. It was almost ten hours past that optimum window, but Kaley didn't care. She felt filthy.

Of course, she started caring once the cold water hit her. "Eeeeyow!" she couldn't help but screech. She then scrubbed as diligently as she could, given her shaking hands, and emerged a scant two minutes later, shivering in her bath towel, but a little less at the mercy of her emotions. Hannah was still going over table after table of some awful spreadsheet or another.

Kaley sighed as she changed into her pajamas to ward off the chill settling into her. The weather was getting warmer, but spring wasn't quite there yet. Snow could fall on Nantucket as late as Memorial Day, apparently. Hannah ceased taking notes and put her pencil down.

"Date didn't go well?" she repeated.

Kaley choked on a laugh. "You know," she began as she crawled under the blankets of her bed, "the thing that really pisses me off is that he waited until after we did it to tell me. He knew. He knew I'd flip a shit, and he...he must've just wanted to get some one last time."

"Okay, I'll bite." Hannah took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "What did James tell you?"

"He told me what's really happening to Alferd Packer," she said, her anger starting to build again. "Well, OK, he didn't come right out and say it, but you'd have to be pretty dense not to figure it out from what he said.

"He told me that they're sending him off to die tomorrow, that the whole "first contact with the natives" bit is a ploy to get him out there. Then," her lip quivered with fury, as she fought to control her voice, "he fucking says it was his plan to do it that way! He said that Packer was dangerous, and that he was instrumental in getting rid of him. He fucking bragged about it to me."

Hannah leaned back. "Well, I could've told you that that whole Packer story sounded fishy," she said. "I mean, who sends just one guy out on such an important mission? I just assumed that I hadn't heard the whole story."

"No one has," Kaley griped, "because the real story is that they're killing him!" She suddenly threw off her blankets and went to her closet half.

"What are you doing?" Hannah asked from behind her.

"Something," she replied. "Anything. I don't know. I have to get out. I have to talk to Packer. Get him to--"

"Uh, Kales?" That was Hannah's nickname for her. Some of the other girls called her Kay. "You know that you can't leave the hotel without an escort, right? And further, you don't even know where Packer lives, or if they're even keeping him at ho--"

"Oh, that I do know. James says that Packer's been at his house, under observation by the Watch."

"All the more reason not to go." Hannah now placed a hand on Kaley's shoulder and turned her. She was tall--nearly six feet. "Kales, please. This is nuts. You need to relax."

"I can't! Not when this is my fault!" There. She said it; it was out in the open. She was GAC--Guilty As Charged.

"Your fault? Why? Because of what happened at the Sausage Fest?" Hannah sat at the edge of Kaley's bed. "Look, you can't help being attracted to the people you're attracted to. It's not your fault that Packer had--probably still has--some separation issues with his wife back in the future. You also can't help that he felt compelled to protect your feelings, anymore than you can expect to stop yourself from being attracted to James--"

"Eugh!" she snarled. "Don't even say his name. If I never see that fucker again, it'll be too soon."

Hannah waited though this patiently. "The point is, Packer is his own man. What, do you think that if it went down differently, and you guys hooked up at the Sausage Fest, that he never would've pushed for that charter of his?"

"I don't know!" Kaley whined. "Maybe! Maybe his priorities would've been different! Maybe he wouldn't have been so reckless. But you know what? You're right. Fuck all that. I'm still going." Now fully dressed, she turned to go the door.

Hannah grabbed her arm. "Kales, stop. You don't need to get involved. It's not your fault; why should you--"

"Because," Kaley answered in a kind of muted shriek, "he's a nice guy and he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve to die alone in the wilderness. OK, maybe he needs to be punished or whatever. Shouldn't the punishment fit his crime?"

Hannah let go. "Perhaps. I don't know. But it still won't work. You won't make it past the Watch."

"I don't intend to," she said with a grin. "Shining Armor is on call tonight."

The rule of interaction between the Watch and the ladies at Point Breeze was simple: barring emergencies, The Watch didn't speak to the women, and the women didn't speak to the Watch. Speech, however, was not the only means of communication. Interactions could be as simple as allowing someone to pass in front of you. A wave. A smile. A nod. Holding a door to allow someone in or out.

Since the girls didn't know the names of any of the Watch, they'd invented nicknames. The guy with the revolver on his belt they sometimes saw was called Old West. Not because he was old, but because his weapon looked anachronistic to them, like he'd stepped out of a Western and misplaced his cowboy hat.

Body Odor was the man who never seemed to smell quite right. Even when he showed up for his shift looking obviously freshly bathed, he still smelled funny. Poor guy.

Shining Armor, on the other hand, was the embodiment of chivalry. Even when his fellow members of the Watch gave him dirty looks for doing it, he always nodded silently to a passing girl. He held doors open for them. If he'd had the flowers, he'd probably pass out a rose to every girl he'd seen. He'd even gone missing for six weeks or so, presumably because he was being disciplined for obeying the letter of the law, not the spirit. But, a few weeks ago, he started showing up again for shifts. Usually the graveyard shift, because so few girls were out and about then, so it was nearly impossible for him to act like a gentleman to anything other than the furniture in the lobby. Kaley only saw him because of her visits with James.

Quickly and with purpose, Kaley slipped out of her room. The door closed silently behind her. The hallway was dimly lit and deserted. She moved quickly, the luxurious padded carpet under her feet muffling her footfalls. As she walked, she frantically tried to think of what to do. Should she flirt with Shining Armor? She frowned at the thought, because flirting brought back memories of James--no, his new name would be Captain Asshole.

Brain, make a note of that, she thought.

She could pout. That might get her somewhere. A few quiet sobs, a crocodile tear...but wait. She was asking this guy to commit a serious breech of orders or protocol or whatever. The odds were essentially 100% that he'd be off the Watch, permanently. Would they punish him like they punished Packer? No, she couldn't manipulate someone into that!

She slipped down the stars to the lobby quietly, making sure the door didn't click shut--that click was loud as hell and would rouse attention. You know what? she thought suddenly. I'll just be honest with him. I want to see Packer before he leaves. Take me to his house right now. Shining Armor didn't need to know that she was going there to try to rescue him, to tell him that she knew what the Council was up to and that, together, they could stop it. She was a bit fuzzy on exactly how they could stop it, but she was sure there was some way. Maybe Packer already had a plan; he just needed little help from her.

In the lobby, Shining Armor was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, his jackbooted feet up on the coffee table in front of it. He saw her, scrambled to his feet, then stopped, a perplexed look on his face. Kaley walked right up to him; he was tall and well-built, probably not much older than her.

"Hi," she said. "I don't know if you know my name already, but it's Kaley. I don't know your name, but we call you Shining Armor around here, because you're a nice guy." He actually smiled softly at this. "Listen, I'm sure you know that Al Packer is shipping out tomorrow. Well, I need to go see him. I don't know where he lives, though, I don't have an escort. I need you to take me there." It was only after she finished speaking that she noted how urgent her tone was.

Shining Armor did his best to keep his face calm, but she saw turmoil in his eyes. She decided to add, "It's not that kind of visit. I'm not a slut. He's my friend, and he's a good guy and...he's scared. I'm sure he is. I want to let him know that he's not alone."

She waited. The storm in his eyes continued. He was struggling with something, but Kaley couldn't tell what.

Finally, he unclipped his radio and spoke into it. "Lee?"

A burst of static, then a tinny, "Copy, Bill."

"I gotta knock off. I'm not feeling good. Think it might be the flu. Don't want to get the birdies sick. Cover the lobby for me?" He glanced up Kaley and winked. She grinned at him.

The tinny voice replied, "Roger. If you want, one of the taxis is out front. Might's well drive yourself over to the hospital, get something for the fever."

"Good idea, Lee. See you back at the barracks." He put his radio back on his belt and looked at her. "I've been wanting to quit the Watch for months," he said to Kaley. "I guess I was looking for a good enough reason to do it." He gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"

The street in front of the Point Breeze Hotel was deserted and pitch dark. Half a dozen Frankencars(as the girls called them) lined the road, and one of them was idling. Shining Armor(no, his name is Bill, Kaley suddenly thought) went over to it, used a plastic kids' beach shovel to scoop several pounds of woodchips into some kind of hopper, then went around to the passenger's side.

"Here you go," he said, opening the door for her.

And despite everything, she blushed a little as she got in.

Once they were underway, Bill was silent, leaving Kaley a little time to think. It had been James' mood that had made Kaley suspicious. He'd been so damn happy the last two weeks. Nothing could shake his mood, not even when Kaley had got her period(they weren't expressly trying to get pregnant, but up until two hours ago, Kaley had thought that it'd be perfectly fine if they did). Everything had been great--he'd been extra witty, extra nice, extra funny--in short, he'd been on Cloud Nine, and Kaley was perfectly content to have him remain there.

But then...tonight, his pillow talk had been weird. He was smiling, but his tone was all wrong. Almost savage. I tell you, babe, he'd said, It's a good thing we're getting rid of Packer. We all dodged a hell of a bullet with him.

What do you mean, getting rid? she'd asked, immediately suspicious. He's going to test the waters, see if he can find the natives. Establish a dialogue. That's what--

Honey, he stroked her side, things aren't always what they seem. Think. If we wanted to test the waters, would we really send a single man out, instead of an armored column?

Back in the car, Kaley shivered. The worst part of it all was how goddamn happy he'd been. If he'd been miserable instead, or even solemn...but no. It wouldn't have been authentic misery. He was happy that Packer was going away, and he was proud of his role.

Her hand curled up into a fist suddenly. She wished she'd slapped him. Kicked him in the balls. Anything. As it was, she didn't even get off a good final insult, a real zinger to make him wilt. But you can do worse, she thought with a small, savage grin. You can blacklist him. He's never getting laid again.

"Here we are, Kaley," Bill said. He stopped the car. "Wait here. I've gotta bluff my way past the guys watching his house."

"Wait," she said. "Are you gonna get in trouble for this?"

"Absolutely," Bill replied. "I'll be spending some time out on Muskeget, I'd wager. Maybe Martha's Vineyard. But it's OK. I can't do this anymore." He suddenly leaned against the steering wheel. "A week ago, I had to brain a sixteen year old kid who was trying to break into the hospital's dispensary. He was trying to get some antibiotics for a sore on his leg. He came at my partner like a caged lion, or something. I dropped him with one good hit. He hasn't woken up yet. They don't know if he will.

"I'm not cut out for this work," he went on, now leaning back in his seat. "I thought I could hack it. I can't. I was always my happiest," he looked at her with a smile, "when I was on duty at your place. It's calm there. Peaceful.

"Anyway!" the word exploded out of him. "I gotta go talk to the other guys. I'm still on the Watch for the moment, so..." and he got out of the car. Sometime later, he entered the cone of light cast by the headlamps, beckoning her. She got out, and within two minutes, was on the front stoop of Packer's house, with Bill waiting a few steps down.

"You sure he's safe?" Bill asked.

"I'm sure," Kaley said over her shoulder. Heart pounding, she knocked on the door.

She could hear, faintly, Packer approaching his door. It opened a crack, then flew open the rest of the way. "Kaley?" the figure in the darkened foyer said.

"Hi," Kaley said. "Can I come in?"

Packer's confusion was obvious, even in the dark. He looked over her shoulder to Bill. She didn't know if he nodded or gave some sort of high sign, but Packer shrugged and said, "Yeah, sure. Please."

Before the Arrival, Kaley was a sophomore at the University of Colorado at Boulder. Her then boyfriend was a senior who lived a few blocks north of Arapahoe in a studio apartment. Whenever she went over there, she marveled at how he could stand to live in such a mess. Cords snaked everywhere, be they from computers, video game consoles, or TVs. His clothes were piled on top of all of his furniture; she'd even once looked in his dresser, and the drawers were actually empty.

Now, as she entered Packer's living room, she saw the same chaos. It looked like he slept on the couch. The furniture was askew. The coffee table was covered with all sorts of papers, books, and unidentifiable detritus.

Must be a bachelor thing, she found herself thinking.

Packer removed an acoustic guitar that had been resting on an easy chair. "Uh, please, sit," he said in a nervous tone. He replaced the guitar on a stand in the corner of the room. Now why wouldn't he have just put in there in the first place? she wondered.

After banking the hearth fire with a couple of hefty chunks of wood, he sat on the couch. "So," he began in a pleasant way, "what are doing in my neck of the woods?"

Kaley frowned. Now that the fire was throwing out more light, she could see Packer's face clearly. He was smiling, but there was something wrong with his smile.

"Well," she began uncertainly...then the words flooded out of her. "James told me. About the real reason for your trip. Well, he didn't explain every last little detail, but he said enough. Like how they're trying to get rid of you by sending you off to Cape Cod! Packer, we have to do something. We have to stop them from sending you. You'll get killed!"

And as she spoke, she watched Packer's face. At intervals, it looked like someone was shutting the lights off upstairs, then turning them back on a few seconds later. He took entirely too long to reply: "Kaley, it's alright. I appreciate the concern. But you didn't need to come all the way out here to warn me of anything. I know!"

"You do?"

"Yes. I know it's dangerous," Packer went on with a chipper tone. "But it's important, you know. For the community. We need to establish a relationship with the natives somehow. Listen, I'm nervous. But at the same time, I'm honored that the Council asked me to do it. Me! Can you imagine?" He looked incredibly satisfied with himself, though there was a kind of hollowness to his expression.

Kaley looked at him with horror. Did they fuckin' brainwash him or something? I thought you could only do that on TV! She tried again. "Packer, it's not an honor! What the hell are you talking about? That's just their cover story. James told me! He said you're being disposed of because of the stuff you did with the charter!"

"The charter?" Packer's face clouded up momentarily. "Oh, well, it was just an idea I had. The Council certainly knows more about things like that than I do. They probably had a good reason for rejecting the idea." It cleared again. "But it is really magnanimous of them to offer me this job after we butted heads, so to speak. It's quite an honor."

Kaley felt chilly dread creeping up her spine. He was parroting...but what? Or whom? Was he told to say these things? And he sounded so...convinced! If it wasn't for that weird look on his face, she'd probably have believed what he was saying.

It was then that she remembered something that James had said while he was boasting. He'd literally swaggered around the room. She didn't understand it at first, but it took on a terrible clarity here.

We fucking broke him, James had said, a predatory, satisfied smile on his face. I broke him. He's nothing but an obedient shell of a man now. Then he'd laughed.

"Oh..." she said quietly. "Oh God. He was right. They did break you."

Packer simply looked at her, the same dumb smile haphazardly attached to his face. The vacant look in his eyes. He gave no indication that he heard her, and said, "It's OK. I admit, I got a bit of a nervous stomach, but who wouldn't? Still, I'm excited to go. What an honor!"

Kaley felt like either screaming or crying; she wasn't sure which. They'd destroyed him--at least, everything that made him Packer. All that was left was something that looked and sounded like Packer. Gone was the witty grin, the kind eyes, the slightly goofy, but altogether charming, good-natured bearing.

And tomorrow, after a boat ride to Cape Cod, they would finish the job by destroying the rest of him.

Something on the table gleamed in the firelight and caught her eye. "Is that...is that a cell phone?"

"Huh?" Packer looked down. "Oh, yeah! It's mine. It came back with me. I, uh, keep it with me for sentimental reasons."

"Like your wedding ring?" Quickly, frantically, a fragment of an idea was forming in her head. She didn't know what had happened, but maybe there was a bit of the real Packer in there somewhere. Or did it even work like that? Kaley didn't know, but she could try...

"Yeah," he replied. He looked nearly normal now, if a little sad. "I have a bunch of pictures on the phone. I look at them from time to time. The pictures of my wife, mostly," he added.

"Can you show me?" she asked.

The first hint of real emotion crossed Packer's face. "Well, uh, sure." He reached on and flipped open his phone, pressing the requisite buttons without even looking at it. Kaley moved over to join him on the couch.

"Here she is," Packer said. Kaley studied the image: a cute, bookish brunette was on the screen, holding up a martini glass with one hand and smartly flipping the bird with another.

"It's not the most flattering picture, but that's not what camera phones are for," Packer explained.

"Oh, I understand," Kaley said. "She really pretty, Packer. What did she do?"

"She's a programmer," Packer said. "Worked on web application stuff, mainly. Java, with a little ASP. Her work's environment is weird. She even does DBA stuff, because her company's to cheap to hire a dedicated one." Kaley understood none of this, but instead noted how remarkably animated his face had become. She was getting somewhere. She had to be.

"You guys have a good marriage?" Kaley asked.

"Absolutely," Packer said. "It's funny how some of the guys who were married at work complained about their wives. They'd invariably stop at the bar after work to delay their arrival as much as possible. I couldn't wait to get home to see her every day. I didn't even like going on trips without her, you know. I don't sleep well by myself. Well, now I do, I guess."

He showed her another picture. His wife, buttoned up in a poofy coat, red-cheeked and grinning, two snowballs in one hand and a blurry third hovering above her other. "We were shoveling our sidewalk last winter," he said with a smile. "Well, it started like that. It turned into a snowball fight."

And on it went. Kaley asked questions, but she mainly let Packer do the talking, explaining each picture as it came up. She didn't know how long they stayed like that, but she saw at least sixty different pictures. As it went, though, the hope built in Kaley's chest, because by the end, Packer was speaking with all of his old flair, gesturing happily, his words peppered with strange witticisms.

"You guys sound like you're great together," Kaley said, having noted that he spoke of her exclusively in the present tense.

"I think so," Packer said. "It's never perfect, but I don't expect it to be. I just try to be a good man for her, and hope she thinks enough of me to do the same."

They were quiet for a minute. Kaley thought, OK, all or nothing. "Packer, you can't go tomorrow. You need to stay on Nantucket. People need you here! Let someone else go in your stead. You're too important to die out there!"

Instantly, the animation in Packer's face vanished, replaced by that creepy smile and dead eyes. I blew it! she thought with horror.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Packer said. "I'll be fine. Really. It may be a bit risky, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?" Packer winked at her, and she felt like screaming again. Instead, she said nothing.

"Well, I should probably try to grab some shuteye." Packer reached around, found a wire, and plugged his phone into it. "Gotta keep it charged up," he said with gaiety. "Thanks for coming by. It was nice to see you before I left."

I don't think there was anything I could've done, she thought miserably. James was right. They did break him. She rose, and so did he. "Oh, hey!" He started rummaging around on his coffee table, eventually producing an envelope.

"I wrote you this," he said. "Here."

She took it. The envelope felt like it had just a few pages in it. A letter? For her? "What's it say?" she asked, realizing after she said it how dumb that sounded.

"You know, I honestly don't recall," Packer said. "Huh. Funny what you forget. Anyway, I wasn't sure how to get it to you, but here you are, so, here you go."

When they were at the door, she turned to face him. "Packer, I don't...I don't know if you're really still in there or what, but I want to say that I'm sorry. Maybe if I hadn't been so direct, or maybe if we'd never met...well, anyway." There was a lump in her throat that was making it hard to talk. "It was very nice to know you. It's reassuring that there are decent guys out there, even in this fucked up world of ours."

He looked genuinely troubled again, but Kaley wasn't going to bother to try to snap him out of it. She leaned forward, and he backed up a step. "It's not that kind of kiss," she said, and he allowed her to plant one on his stubbly cheek, as did he allow her to hug him.

She separated from him, but still held his hands, and she looked into his confused eyes. "I don't know what's worse," she said. "If you stay like this, or if you snap out of it. Goodbye, Packer."

She stepped out of the house and onto the stoop. Bill was waiting for her, and there two other members of the Watch out in the street, leaning up against one of their cars. On the car ride back to the hotel, Kaley's mind turned towards her immediate future. Maybe she'd be punished for leaving. Or for getting Bill into trouble. She found that she didn't care. Maybe she couldn't have saved Packer(she was increasingly sure of this), but at least she'd tried.

At least she'd be able to live with herself, even after he was long dead.

Day 359, Afternoon, Cape Cod

The sun had taken on its shallow, autumn angle. Even at high noon, it cast long shadows. Earlier in the fall, such shadows were, in their way, charming. Now, though, it meant that winter was fast approaching. Still, the proximity to the ocean kept the chill out of autumn, even on October 25th.

Packer threw another pine bough on the signal fire. His hands were sticky with pine sap, but the smoke column was worth it. There'd be no chance that they were missed. The weather was even on their side--it was sunny, and the wind was present, but it wasn't too strong as to scatter the smoke too quickly.

Packer walked back to the shelter. He and Nara had built it when they'd arrived yesterday, using pine boughs and straight branches to create a lean-to. Combined with their blankets and hides, it was an effective wind shelter, but Packer hoped he wouldn't have to see how waterproof it was.

Their camp was just out of sight of the water, in a small clearing. The signal fire was on the beach proper, but it didn't need a ton of attention. Packer entered the clearing to see Nara roasting a skewered fish over their camp fire.

That was the one item he'd wished they'd given him when they dumped him out here: fishing wire. Fishing via spear was unebelievably hard, and Packer had not done it successfully even once in the entire six months he'd been out here.

"The fish smells good," Packer said in English. Now that they were away from the village, Packer was trying to acclimate Nara's ears as much as possible to it.

Nara looked up. "Yes, it will be ready for eating soon." She gestured towards the beach. "I see a lot of smoke. Do you think your friends will see it?"

Packer nodded. "I hope so. I also hope they get here soon."

"Maybe they would like some fish," Nara said was a grin. They were both wearing hide pants, and she was wearing a long-sleeved hide shirt. Packer had a similar one, but he was accustomed to the cooler temperatures now, so he was wearing a deerskin vest, instead. Of course, he wore his seashell marriage necklace, along with a pair of seashell bracelets that Nara had made him over the summer. The only modern aspect to his outfit were his hiking boots, which had proved to be tougher than just about anything else he'd had with him.

After Miles and Kevin had left the village, Packer decided to prepare his body. For what? He wasn't sure, but he wanted to return looking as fit and healthy as he could. To that end, he exercised every day, doing simple calisthenics, as well as things like push-ups and crunches. Where everyone else was indulging in the fall harvest, Packer kept his portions sensible and healthy. He also soaked up as much of the waning autumn sun as he could, maintaining as much of his summer tan as possible. By the end of it, considering the lack of gym equipment available, he felt himself to look pretty good.

Packer sat by Nara and watched the fish cook. "Do you miss your family?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied. "But I am not sad. I will see them in the spring. And I have you."

Saying goodbye to Nara's family had been hard, and it had taken Packer completely by surprise how hard it was. Only when their departure was imminent did he realize how much he wanted to stay with them, and how much it hurt to see them go. And then, when Chottekan took Nara's hand and passed it to Packer, tears in his eyes...well, of course Packer blubbered like a little kid.

But if filled him with resolve. No harm was coming to Nara. That was his new main directive. Get her to Nantucket, keep her happy and healthy throughout the winter, get the baby delivered safely, keep the baby healthy, and get his family back to the village some time in the spring. Everything else took a backseat to that, and would be dealt with secondarily.

"I miss your family, too," Packer said. "Although, I should say that I miss my family, right?"

Nara smiled at him. "Of course. They are your family."

They then ate the fish, which was succulent and smoky. They'd brought from the village plenty of pemmican and other dried meat, and there were lots of wild edibles along the way to gather and snack on. Still, it was better to not dip into those reserves unless necessary, and the fish was big and filled them both up.

After it was done, Packer stood. "I will go check the fire again." he said. When he made it to the beach, though, he saw it. It was still a good half mile out, but it was unmistakably a modern sailboat!

Packer almost let out a whoop of joy, but he realized that he needed to be careful. There was no way to tell who was aboard, and while he thought it unlikely that there was a sniper from the Watch aiming for the beach, ready to take him out, he saw no need to chance it. He quickly added more pine boughs to the signal fire and disappeared back into the woods.

"The boat is almost here," he said to Nara. "We'll wait until they land here."

It wasn't long. Packer heard stomping; the crunching of dead leaves and twigs. Then, "Hellooooo there, Packer!" It was Miles Jameson, without a doubt.

"Hey, Miles! Over here!" Soon, Miles burst into the clearing. "Hey guys! Anybody order a pizza?" He laughed and gave Packer a hug. "Hello, Nara," he said pleasantly, but respectfully.

"It is nice to see you again, Miles," Nara said with a smile of her own. "Is Kevin here?"

"Nope, he's on Martha's Vineyard," he said. "We thought it best for him to stay, in case someone was watching him. I don't think our plan was discovered, but you never know. I brought one of my buddies along to help me with the boat. You don't mind, right?"

"Not at all," Packer said. "I'm glad you were able to make it."

"Me too," Miles said earnestly. "Let's get you guys loaded up, huh? Not a ton of daylight left, so we'll want to shove off soon. There will be plenty of time to catch up on the ride back. It's gonna be an all-nighter for sure."

Packer stood, hefting his spear--it was almost eight feet long and its point was the blade of his now-dismantled hunting knife(the grip of which now held a stone blade). "Read my mind, buddy. Let's rock."

And about an hour later, they were on their way, sailing across the the Atlantic Ocean which was afire with the golden light of an autumn sunset.

Almost six months to the day after he left, Alferd Packer was coming back to Nantucket.

---

"There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance--that principle is contempt prior to investigation." -Herbert Spencer

"Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain." - Schiller, Die Jungfrau von Orleans, III vi.

Hooray! A page without a story post is a page wasted.

Editor's note: This takes place on day 175, post-arrival . . .

Testing
"Just gotta say though; if anyone on the watch is sympathetic to Packer and the Charter it's me. I'm not super outspoken, so don't expect me at any rallies unless it's in order to secure the 'peace'. However you can be sure I'd be talking about it to the other guys on post or during a patrol and most likely turning an idea to anything that's not out right dangerous to the community."

I looked up at Bill, and then back down at the folded, wrinkled piece of paper he handed me. I cleared my throat and continued reading.

"Oligarchy or death- which is the smart pick? That's not a question with a trivial answer; if it is, I suspect the answer isn't the one you want. Especially not when (and this is important) there is still the realistic prospect of something better happening without us having to do anything dangerous."

"Do you think we have a problem with making a quick judgement around here, that people failed to look deeper in the issue, or is it just me?"

"I say fire the entire Council and start from scratch. The Council started as an 'old boys club' and, sure it's added 'worthy' members every now and then. But now, might as well shitcan them all and start from the beginning," I read from the paper.

I folded it back up, examining the front. In big, bold letters, "COMMON SENSE" was printed on it, followed by crude drawing of a fist and the words 'Power to the People!' Below that, was some rambling preamble. After that, covering the rest of this little 'pamphlet,' were these quotes. I frowned at Bill.

"Just how long have you had this?"

"Only a few days," Bill replied. "If you wanna know where I got it, I found it at the mess hall."

"Well, that much is obvious," I said, my eyes scanning down the page. "I can see some quotes here from people that I'm pretty sure are on the Watch." I dropped down into a nearby chair. "I've only been here six months, and I'm already too old for this shit. Which begs the question . . . why are you showing this to me?"

Bill looked at me, and then he looked around. Finally, he spoke: "'Cause I've got a confession to make."

Eh? And you're starting off by giving me evidence that this Packer business may only be the start of our problems?

"Must be a doozy," I said. None of this was in my job description. Hell, I really only knew Bill from the times we'd drawn watch duty over at Point Breeze.

"Yeah," Bill replied. "Couple days ago, I helped a girl sneak out."

"You? You helped a girl sneak out," I said. Of all of us, Bill pushed the limits of our contact with the women the furthest. The first time word got up the chain, he found himself on ferry duty; riding with people being sent out to Muskeget.

"Yeah. Not just any girl. You know Kaley?"

Kaley . . . had to think about that for a moment. "She's the girlfriend of . . . one of the Councilors," I replied.

Bill snorted. "Not anymore, I'd wager," he said. "She asked me real nicely if she could talk to Packer, the night before he left."

Why did it have to be Packer, O Malevolent Powers? He's off the island. Been so for about a day now. That, however, wasn't important right now.

"And you said yes? What the hell, man? How'd you get her past two whole guard details?"

"Well, I sort of said I had the flu and I," Bill started to reply as I held up my hand.

"Not important. Forget I asked that," I said, pulling off my glasses with my other hand. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "The important thing is why? Why do that, and why tell me?"

"Hell man," Bill replied, "I'm sick of being here, to tell you the truth. What we did to Packer, that kid I beat the other day, and half a dozen other things I've done since I started here. I ain't proud of any of it. Not anymore."

"This isn't the Hotel California man," I said. "You could've just gone up to the Old Man and told him to 'take this job and shove it!' You didn't have to go out of your way to do . . . to do this!"

"I don't care if I go to Muskeget," Bill said. "Heck, I don't care if the Council makes me chop wood on Martha's Vineyard for the rest of my life."

"But this is like some Imperial lackey kneeing Darth Vader in the balls, or . . . or Kyon punching out Haruhi!"

"That's why I'm telling you first, man. Of all of us on the Point Breeze rotation, you've got pull. You ain't Mess, but you're on the hotshot team."

This was headed into migraine territory. "Balls," I muttered. "Son of a bitch," I added for emphasis. I picked up the forgotten pamphlet, "and I suppose this will be your get out of jail free card?"

"Well," Bill started, "like I said, I . . ."

"I know," I replied, taking a deep breath. "You should've been thinking with your noggin, first off. Failing that, you should've gone to the Old Man. Like, yesterday."

"I didn't want them to send Packer out there naked, 'cause of what I did," Bill replied.

"His life-expectancy wouldn't have been made appreciably worse. What makes you think that you won't be next?"

"I know, I know," Bill said. "You gotta help me, man . . . It was the right thing to do, you know?"

"Was it," I snapped. Bill winced at the volume of my voice. I took a deep breath and stared him in the eye.

"Yeah," he replied, returning my stare with interest. "It was. It is . . . and . . . and I'd do it all over again!"

I exhaled sharply. "Fine. You . . . you tell yourself that." I put my glasses back on, and gathered up my hat. "If that sentiment survives talking to the Old Man, I reckon you'll have earned my respect."

With that, I stood up, and we made our way to the Old Man's office. His door was almost always open, and today was no exception. I bit my lip as I glanced at the doorway. He was there. So were Ari and Kam. All three men were in the midst of an animated discussion. The Old Man caught sight of us and waved us away with a curt gesture. I nodded, motioning to one of the chairs outside the office. Bill sat down. I chose to prop myself against the wall. I looked at Bill, whose face had a lot less color to it than it did before.

To tell you the truth, I was starting to get the shakes as well. We were a few feet from the top of the Watch's food chain, and here I was about to go to bat for someone who'd done something monumentally stupid. But you protect who you gotta protect, and that was your brothers . . . be they the biological kind, or the kind you got to know by going through nearly half a year of hell with.

At length, Ari and Kam stepped out of the Old Man's office. Bill and I got up again, and I knocked on the doorframe.

"Come in," the Old Man said. "Have a seat." As we stepped in, the Old Man pushed aside a couple pieces of paper. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "Ari wanted to discuss the idea of having the Watch begin scouting the mainland in earnest. On dirt bikes."

I nodded, taking a seat. So did Bill. "Should I ask what came of it?"

"Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?"

"No sir."

"Then you shouldn't ask. How can I help you gentlemen?"

"Well, sir," I started. "Bill helped a girl see Al Packer on his last night on the island."

The Old Man pressed his lips together and looked into my eyes. Stared into them. And then, he looked at Bill.

"Is this true?"

"Yes. Sir," Bill managed.

The Old Man nodded once, silently, his eyes on both of us. Finally, he motioned to me.

"Close the door, if you would?"

I nodded, tight-lipped, and with razor-winged butterflies swarming in my gut. I stood, barely slipping around the chair. Somehow, I managed to stay composed as I pulled that door shut, and returned to my chair.

The Old Man stared at us in stone-cold silence. That silence stretched on as he stared at us, his face stony, his expression betraying nothing.

"You," he finally said. "Are in deep. Shit. The Council is going to want your head," he added. "Tell me there's a reason not to give it to them. And did you," he said, looking directly at me, "know?"

"No sir," I managed, "I didn't. I . . . I'm here to back him, though."

There, I did it. I just marked myself as someone no longer firmly on the System's side. I'm not the religious type, but may the Malevolent Powers spare my soul. Please?

The Old Man nodded once and then closed his eyes for a few moments. "I see," he said. "I'm going to hope, for your sake, that there's a good reason."

"Yes sir," Bill said, standing up. "It wasn't right, what we did to him, sir," he said, the words flowing fast and furious. "She wanted to talk to him, and I figured that if I got my balls busted for it, then whatever, I didn't want to be a part of it anymore anyway. We haven't been doing right in months, and goddamn it, I've got the proof right here," he pulled the wrinkled pamphlet from his pocket and threw it down on the Old Man's desk.

I looked at Bill, and just then, I felt . . . it's hard to describe. Pride? Pride that he had the conviction to stand up to the Old Man, consequences be damned. There he stood, looking fierce, yet terrified out of his wits. You've got balls, kid. I envy you. I surely do.

The Old Man wasn't looking at Bill, or myself.

"We the people," he said. "Are no longer content to have our voices silenced. We are no longer content to stand by and watch them kill those who would bring us comfort, or those who would offer us freedom. No more will we stand by and allow them to force us into castes, make chattel of us, and deny our common spirit. They will not oppress us. Our voices will be heard . . . the spirit of Testing lives again."

He put the pamphlet down, and looked directly at Bill. "Where did you get this?"

"I found it a few days ago in the mess hall, sir," Bill replied. "Sitting right there on one of the tables."

The Old Man pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gotcha," he replied. "You people are going to make an alcoholic of me yet," he said. I looked at him once, twice. Just to make sure he hadn't switched places with someone else while I wasn't looking. "I make no guarantees, Bill," he said. "But you may avoid being exiled to the mainland to share Packer's fate."

"I . . . I thank you, sir," Bill replied.

"Either way," the Old Man said, "your career as a Watchman is over. Permanently. However, you will be jailed here until the Council decides what to do with you."

"That's more than fair, sir," Bill replied, sagging down into his chair. The Old Man looked my way and fixed me in the coldest, hardest glare I've ever seen.

"You, on the other hand," he said, picking up the pamphlet, "will run this to ground."

I looked at him. I looked down at the pamphlet, and then back up at him.

"I . . ."

"There are no 'buts,'" the Old Man cut me off. "No 'try,' no 'maybe.' You will run this to ground. Do I make myself clear?"

I swallowed, and looked into his eyes.

"Yes sir," I said, reaching out to take the pamphlet from his hand.

"Is there anything else, gentlemen," the Old Man said.

"No sir," Bill and I said, deflated.

"Good," the Old Man replied. "I'll have someone take him to the holding cells," he said, motioning to Bill. "You, on the other hand, have a lot of work to do. Now get out of my office."

Pardon my ignorance, but what does "run to ground" mean, in context?

Eliminate it.

Day 360, Dawn, Nantucket

Miles Jameson had christened his skiff Jealous Much?, which was painted on the stern in blue. It was a strangely American expression. He'd explained to Packer: "I saw it on this American TV show they rebroadcast over in Ireland just before the Arrival. I thought it was too damn funny not to."

The trip had been slow, but Packer was fine with that. They had almost three quarters of a day to travel across thirty miles of ocean. Packer, knowing next to nothing about sailing, was amazed that the wind could be blowing east-northeast and they could still travel south at a reasonable clip.

The skiff's other crewmember was a seventeen year old kid named Justin. Miles had kept him in the dark, and when Packer climbed aboard, the only way to describe Justin's reaction was starstruck. He barely even noticed Nara, and this kind of behavior troubled Packer.

They must think I'm some kind of living legend, Packer had realized with dismay. What kind of rumors had been going around Nantucket while he was gone?

Miles and Justin took turns at the helm, while the other navigated via compass, as well as their watches. At intervals, they would turn slightly further into the wind, making, Packer assumed, some kind of course correction.

Nara, meanwhile, occupied most of Packer's attention. It came out after they shoved off that she was afraid of the water and could not swim. The skiff had a small cabin/hold, and she was less uneasy when she couldn't see the ocean. Packer did his best to comfort her, angry with himself for not seeing this potential problem ahead of time. Eventually, though, she fell into an uneasy sleep, and Packer managed to grab a couple hours of shuteye, as well.

When he awoke, it was dark. He disentangled himself from Nara gently, so as not to wake her, and he emerged onto the skiff's tiny deck. Justin was at the helm, Miles stretched in a supine position, lying across a bench on the port side of the ship. Packer sat on the opposite bench and hefted his spear, planting it between his legs and leaning it against his shoulder. To the east, there was the barest hint of twilight--just enough for Packer's darkness-adjusted eyes to see.

"You sure about bringing that spear with you?" Miles asked. "It's kind of hard to hide."

"I don't mean to hide it, Miles," Packer replied. "For one, just by carrying it, I'm gonna scare people off. You carry a weapon and most people assume that you know how to use it. It puts people off balance, keeps them at arms' length. I want that. I want to keep people away from Nara, and me looking like goddamn Tarzan is the best way I can think of to do that. Secondly, I stared down the biggest fucking black bear you'd ever seen with only this spear between me and it. It's earned its place."

"Really? You fought a bear?"

"Hunted," Packer corrected. "It was a male. Big one, too. Five hundred pounds, probably. It came around the village one morning, looking to get at the meat that was curing in the smokehouse. The dogs chased it off, we marshaled a hunting party to go track it down. Once we did, we laid a trap. I was the bait."

"That's intense shit," Miles exhaled.

"That's life outside of Nantucket," Packer said. "Sure, there are a lot of good times...like re-enacting old sci-fi films and getting laid...but have no illusions that it's anything other than a fucking hard life. They can't even get enough food to last the entire population through the winter. That's why they vamoose--they'll literally starve to death if they don't. Infant mortality is at least twenty percent, and I'd guess that one in four babies actually survives to grow up. You know how I said Duniik and Nara are siblings, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, they're the only two who survived. Their mother had three other pregnancies. One miscarried, one died of some disease or another within the first year, and the last one was breech. Mother and baby died."

Miles was silent, as was Justin--though Packer saw that he was clearly listening. Packer went on: "And then there's diseases that hit you in adulthood. The best they have for medicines is some kind of bark tea that can knock a fever down, as well as some kind plant that'll make you loopy if you boil it and drink it. And that's it. If you get appendicitis, you're dead. A bad bone break, you're dead. Hell, a fucking splinter could kill you if it gets infected."

"It's a miracle they're surviving at all," Miles said, a touch glum.

"Honestly, I think their latrine system has everything to do with it," Packer said. "Keeping their shit away from their food and water means they disrupt the lifecycle of all sorts of nasty parasites. Someone invented it by fluke, and it's allowed them to grow."

"But they're at their limit now," Justin said.

"Right," Packer confirmed, pointing at Justin for emphasis. "Because they haven't made the next leap yet: agriculture. They're almost there. The fields around the village have a lot of edibles in them, as you saw, Miles. But not quite enough."

The twilight had strengthened, and there was a uniform deep red glow in the eastern sky. "We're here," Justin announced.

Miles got up. "Wow, Nantucket sure does sneak up on you." Packer looked. To the south, there was a dark, unmoving blot consuming much of the horizon.

"Nah, I spotted it a ways back," Justin said. "It was breaking up the glow on the horizon. I just didn't want to interrupt Mister Packer. Interesting stuff."

"Alrighty," Miles crooned. "Take us into the harbor. Balls deep. I want to land as close to the hospital as we can. There shouldn't be hardly anyone out now, so with a little luck, we'll get you there unseen."

Packer ducked back into the hold quickly to rouse Nara. When she emerged, at once sleepy-eyed and scared, she heaved a sigh relief when she saw land surrounding them.

There was now enough light to make out general shapes: trees, buildings, boats, and so on. Justin took them across the eastern side of the harbor, where they'd be far harder to make our clearly--not that anyone was necessarily watching, of course.

Wordlessly, Packer allowed Nara to soak in the ever-brightening sights of Nantucket harbor. Unprompted, she said, "The houses are wrong."

Miles looked at her. "Wrong, Nara?"

"They are too...sharp? Not round. Why?"

Miles looked at Packer and shrugged helplessly. Packer said, "It is easy to build houses this way, actually. We can make them very strong, so that a storm won't knock them down."

Nara nodded, but said nothing more. Packer put his arm around her shoulder and she hugged him fiercely.

After a time, they cut across the harbor, aiming for the innermost pier. Packer spied people waiting on it, and turned to Miles, alarmed.

"Relax," Miles said. "All part of the plan. They're old friends."

Packer soon confirmed that with his own eyes: as they drew closer, he recognized them as Horticulturists; Vine Boy was among them. Their clothes, while dingy, looked sturdy and well-worn, and each had a trowel on his belt. Each was bigger and thicker than he last remembered seeing them, and that would probably hold true for most people. They looked like they wanted to shout for joy, but were barely holding themselves together.

Miles took the sail down at just the right time, and Jealous Much? coasted to the pier. While it was designed with much larger boats in mind, there was a ladder that led down to the water line, and the skiff stopped in front of this. Miles went first, hauling up two of Nara and Packer's bags as he went. Packer went up second, and he was at once beset by frantic, whispering idolaters.

Thankfully, Nara quickly deduced how to climb a ladder, and she was on the pier shortly after Packer. This shocked the Horticulturists into silence enough that Packer could speak. "Guys, this is my wife. She's the reason we're going to the hospital. How quickly can you get us there?"

Packer was impressed how quickly their jubilation and surprise turned to deadly seriousness. Vine Boy said, "We can go right now, Mister Packer. We were told it was you that needed to see a doctor, but I understand the discretion. We don't think word got out that you were coming back today, but you never know. You have all your stuff?"

Miles passed Packer his spear. "I do now," he said. Distributed among the Horticulturists were Packer and Nara's bags.

"Well, sunup's in ten minutes or so," Vine Boy said, "so we'll try to get you to the hospital by then."

"Right on." Packer turned to Miles. "I can't thank you enough for helping my wife and me."

"T'weren't nothing, Packer," Miles blushed. "Though I was serious about what I said. I do want to come back with you guys for permanent next spring."

"I think that might be just fine," Packer grinned, and he bearhugged Miles. "We'll see you soon, OK?"

"Got it. We're off to Martha's Vineyard. Gotta tell Kevin the good news."

"Cool. Send him my best." And then he took Nara's hand, and, under the escort of four Horticulturists, started off at a trot towards the hospital.

Day 360, Morning, Nantucket

There was a member of the Watch guarding the ER entrance to the Nantucket Cottage Hospital. It made sense. It also made Packer skid to halt, but it made sense.

It was about half a mile between the pier and the hospital, and they'd covered it quickly. They'd encountered no one, but they'd been seen at crossroads by people starting their day in one fashion or another. Nara even tried to point someone out, but Packer resolutely kept her moving.

He was worried about her. She was looking around, wide-eyed, at everything. The buildings. The street lights (even though they weren't on). The cobbled streets. The baseball field. The chain-link fences. Everything was endlessly fascinating, but it would've taken them forever to get to the hospital if he'd let her indulge.

Vine Boy stepped up alongside Packer. "It's no worry," he said, chucking his head toward the Watchman. "He's on our side."

Packer frowned. He didn't like that notion at all. They resumed their canter to the hospital.

The Watchman actually doffed his cap to Packer. "Welcome back, Mister Packer," he said. "I'm glad to see you're in one piece...and you've brought someone back with you, it seems. Hello, ma'am."

"Hello," Nara said distractedly.

"I do hope you mean no foul play with that thing," the Watchman said, nodding his head towards Packer's spear.

"I mean none, but we'll see what happens," Packer said frostily. After his last two weeks on the island, he trusted the members of the Watch as far as he could throw them, regardless if of whose 'side' they were on.

"Well, go on in. The nurse inside is expecting you."

"And this is where we leave you," Vine Boy said. "We need to go tell the Machinists. They've known you were on your way back, but Kevin kept them in the dark about the day. Didn't want too many people knowing. But that's not the case anymore!" He clapped Packer on the shoulder.

"Thanks. Aside from the Machinists, don't tell people where I am, OK?" Packer said, and after they had their bags back from the Horticulturists, he led Nara through the automatic doors--which, remarkably, still worked--and into the hospital.

The ER waiting room was empty, save a single person--the aforementioned nurse. He was was about thirty, with brown eyes and thinning brown hair, and wearing scrubs and carrying a clipboard. "Mister Packer, right on ti--" he looked at Nara, then, getting a good look at Packer, did a double-take.

"Yeah yeah, welcome back to me. Listen," Packer said quickly. "I know you were probably told that I needed a doctor, but it's not me. It's my wife here. She's pregnant, and I want a full workup done. You have an OB/GYN, right?

"Yeah, but she's not supposed to come in unt--"

"We'll wait. Can you get us into an exam room?"

"Yeah," the nurse sounded a bit dazed. "Yeah! Sorry, Mister Packer. It's just, well, they said you'd be coming and, intellectually, I knew you'd be coming, but to actually see you! Face to face! It's a bit shocking. I'll take you guys straight to the maternity wing. Well, that's what it's called now."

Packer ushered Nara through the halls of the hospital, which were thankfully deserted. About half the flourescent overheads were on, and Packer suddenly wondered how long they'd have electricity at all. Ten years? Twenty? Would they be able to build new generators by then?

At the entrance to the maternity ward, Packer ditched his spear in the corner of a nearby waiting room. After a time, they were shown to an exam room and, after Packer recited a few vital statistics for the nurse, were left alone.

Exactly what Packer wanted. Nara slumped into a chair; she was clearly drained from the ordeal. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Yes," she said with anything other than conviction. "I have to go, though."

"Oh!" Packer looked; there was an adjoining bathroom in this exam room, thankfully. "Let me show you what to do."

Nara found the toilet and its attendant procedures utterly ridiculous. "Why do you pee in clean water?" she asked as she sat on the bowl, her voice echoing. "And this stone is cold!"

Packer, waiting outside, couldn't help but chuckle. "When you are done, remember to press on the metal lever behind you." In a few moments she did, yelping as the toilet flushed.

He entered the bathroom; Nara was staring at the toilet with amazement as the water refilled. "It is a good thing," she began, "that I do not have to go anymore." Packer laughed. "Where does it go?"

"Under the ground," Packer said, "and to a place where it will not bother anyone."

"What about the water? Why do you use clean water like that?"

"There is much clean water," Packer said. He turned on the faucet of the bathroom sink. "See? Now you can wash your hands." He demonstrated, using the provided bar of soap. It took Packer a moment to realize that this soap was not any kind of commercial brand, and that meant that they were manufacturing soap here on Nantucket. Excellent, Packer thought. At least they're moving forward, after a fashion.

After that, Packer and Nara had some of the pemmican they brought with them. There were crushed cranberries mixed in the pemmican, and this at least made it taste like something. Then, with little else to do, they dozed; Nara on the examination table, Packer in one of the chairs with his feet up on the other. A knock at the door startled them both back to wakefulness.

"Come in," Packer mumbled groggily. For a minute, he wondered why exactly he was inside. And why was it so warm? He undid the lacing up the front of his vest, exposing his chest and stomach to the air.

As Nara stirred, the door opened. In stepped a cute brunette in her thirties, wearing scrubs and a lab coat. Her dominant expression was that of calm, pleasant professionalism, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty running underneath it--the vaguest hints of confusion in her eyes. Who could blame her? Packer thought. We have to be her strangest patients.

"Mister Packer, good morning," she said in a Canadian accent. Her voice was high, even for a woman. Almost childlike. "And Mrs. Packer, good morning to you too. I'm Doctor Reynolds, but just about everyone calls me Yasmine. We don't stand on ceremony here."

Nara looked a trifle confused by the honorific, but they all shook hands, anyway. As the doctor washed her hands, she said, "So, Mister Packer, I see that you've finally come back to us."

"Indeed I have," Packer replied. He got up and stood by Nara on the exam table. "My wife, Nara, is pregnant. I brought her here for a check-up. Also, because it's safe here."

"That is true," Doctor Reynolds said. "Even with all the bickering that's been going on, everyone recognizes the need for an intact hospital. But I'm sure you have more pressing concerns." She dried her hands off with a paper towel.

Packer smiled. "You could say that."

Doctor Reynolds glanced at what Packer presumed was Nara's chart, then went over to her. "Hello, Nara," she said with a smile. "Has your husband explained why he brought you here?"

Nara looked at Packer briefly, then back to the doctor. "Yes," she replied. "He said you can tell if I am healthy. If the baby is healthy."

"That's right," she said. She then led Nara over to the scale on the other side of the room.

"Let's see," she fiddled with the scale, "you are five foot one inch tall, and you weigh...call it one hundred and fifteen pounds. Right on the money." She smiled reassuringly at Nara, leading her back to the exam table.

"Hmmm," she said when taking her blood pressure. "It's running a little high, but I think that, given the circumstances, it's understandable."

Packer watched with vanishing apprehension as Doctor Reynolds conducted the rest of the physical exam. Her bedside manner was, in a word, terrific. Most importantly, Nara grew visibly more comfortable and relaxed.

When it was done, Doctor Reynolds stood. "You're in excellent health," she said. "I don't think any other woman on this island could hold a candle to you." She turned to Packer. "You've taken great care of her."

"Don't look at me," Packer said. "She's the one who's taken care of me. Neither of us would be here today if it weren't for her." Nara beamed at him.

"Well, then her good habits rubbed off on you," she gestured to his chest. "I think I'd be hard-pressed to find anything wrong with you, either." Packer shrugged.

"At any rate, let's discuss your pregnancy," she sat down in the second chair. Packer decided that he liked this doctor immensely. She could've asked a thousand questions about his time on Cape Cod, but she was instead sticking to the pertinent parts. "Do you have any idea how far along you are?"

"Well," Packer said, "I don't have a precise count of days, of course, but Nara has said that her last period was about a week before we first got together, so I figure about four months, maybe four and a half."

"Any weight gain?"

"It's the fall. Everyone's packing on weight for winter," Packer said.

Nara said, "Yes, my belly has grown. But not much."

"That'll change," Doctor Reynolds said with a grin. "And soon. Well, I'm feeling generous today, so let's say that you can gain another fifteen to twenty pounds. I'm going to want to see you every three weeks so we can chart how both mother and baby is doing. Will that work for you?"

"We're here for the winter," Packer confirmed.

"Good. Well, based on what you've told me, I'd put your due date at early to mid-March. We'll do an ultrasound the next time you come in, and I'll be able to refine that some."

"Doctor," Packer began, "how many babies have there been?"

"Fourteen," she replied immediately. "And to answer your next question, thirteen are alive and healthy. The one baby we lost came premature, and we don't have a NICU here. There was nothing we could've done, unfortunately." She leaned forward a bit. "Look, I'm not going to tell you not to worry. Pregnancy is risky, especially in our situation. We can minimize those risks, but we can't eliminate them.

"I can say, however, that you're in good hands. There are fifty-three pregnant women on the island...fifty-four now, and I'm watching them all carefully. We still have all of our modern knowledge, and that goes a long way to helping women deliver healthy babies."

She stood. "But enough of my speech. Let's continue, shall we? I'm going to conduct a pelvic exam now."

Packer stood, too. "And that's my cue to leave."

Doctor Reynolds cocked her head a bit. "Oh, it's alright if you want to stay--"

"It's not my issue," Packer replied. "It's a cultural thing. As her husband, I'm not supposed to have contact with the healers who specialize in this kind of thing...in a professional capacity, that is."

"It is true," Nara added. "He has told me what you must do, and he knows that I must be alone for this. It is The Way."

"It is The Way," Packer agreed.

Doctor Reynolds, momentarily nonplussed by this strange exchange, recovered gracefully enough, saying: "Well, let me show you where the lounge is, Mister Packer."

Day 360, Morning, Nantucket

The maternity wing, as it was called, was now a bit more active. Women in various trimesters, sometimes accompanied by their husbands/mates/boyfriends, sat in exam rooms or walked the halls. Packer didn't really take much notice of them, and he passed by everyone too quickly and looked too strange for them to really be sure what they were seeing.

"So, Doctor--" Packer began

"Please, call me Yasmine," she interjected.

"Sure. Yasmine, what's the state of medicine here on Nantucket? Are there any vaccines left? Antibiotics? Is surgery possible?"

They entered an empty lounge and sat on some chairs. "Well, medicine is basic, but serviceable here. We can reset broken bones. We can perform surgery, but the outcomes haven't been as good as they were back in the future, of course. We do have several people who came back diagnosed with cancer or another incurable conditions, and for these people, we can only provide palliative care. We are able to make penicillin, though it's very limited quantities and it goes bad quickly. We also have fresh sulfa, but again, in limited quantities. There are vaccines left over from last year that are still good, and we are reserving them exclusively for women of child-bearing age."

She smoothed her slacks as she talked. "So, anticipating your next question, I will see that Nara gets vaccinated with everything that we can give a pregnant woman: tetanus, H1N1, and last year's flu vaccine. We have to hold off on the MMR shot until after she gives birth, but that's not a big deal. A slightly bigger deal is meningitis, but again, that should not be a huge problem. We've had no cases of any of those diseases yet, because almost all of us came back already vaccinated. Herd immunity is probably going to protect any new arrivals on the island for quite some time."

"Okay," Packer said. He leaned forward and laced his fingers together. "What about regular stuff? Common colds and that sort of thing?"

"I can't offer you any definitive answers. Nara is the test case. I can say that pregnant women are, by definition, immunocompromised. It's unclear how something like a modern cold will affect her. Did you get sick out on Cape Cod, Mister Packer?"

"Once," Packer said. "Just after I was sent out. It put me down hard for five days. Nara cared for me--gave me something to keep me asleep, as well as something to keep my fever down. Once I got over it, though, I was fine."

"Hmm," she replied. "Well, Mister Packer, like I said, I can't offer you any definitive answers, but I have an idea that Nara will be OK here, as will other natives that we come in contact with."

"Are you just saying that to mollify me?" Packer asked. Wow, where the hell did I pull that word from?

"Not at all. Have you ever heard of the hygiene hypothesis?" Packer shook his head. "It attempts to account for the increased prevalence of autoimmune disorders in developed nations. The short of the hypothesis is this: as children, if your immune system is not exposed to an appropriate variety of external pathogens, it doesn't learn how to handle them. This can cause your immune response to overreact when you're an adult, which may lead to disease like asthma or Crohn's.

"I mention this because Nara's immune system, while not fully adapted to our host of diseases, has been exposed to just about everything else, by virtue of her living in a less sanitary environment all her life. Further, she has been exposed--somewhat--because she's been in intimate contact with you for several months. Just because you aren't sick doesn't mean you're not carrying all sorts of interesting little bugs on your skin, or in your mouth. If she didn't get sick around you, she probably won't run too much worse a risk here. We, who grew up in much more sanitary conditions, could possibly have a much harder time of it than those native to this time. I will advise you both, however, to avoid sick people as much as you can while she's pregnant. We do have effective quarantine protocols in place, but there's no need to tempt fate."

"No, there isn't." Packer looked up. "Thank you, Yasmine."

"You're very welcome, Mister Packer." She stood. "Oh, and good on you for surviving out there! Personally, I thought the rumors about you being alive were just wishful thinking, or propaganda put out by the Machinists. I'm quite glad I was wrong."

"Well, I suppose I am, too," Packer said with a goofy smile.

"I'll be back, or I'll send someone to get you when I've completed the exam," she said, and left the lounge.

Packer exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a while. He realized that he was parched, and he got a glass of water from the sink. The water tasted bland; he wondered if he'd actually gotten used to drinking a little bit of dirt and deer turds in every sip.

"Packer?!" someone cried out from behind him.

He cocked his head. He knew that voice. But he wasn't just gonna dumbly say her name, like he had the last two times he'd seen her. He set the glass down and turned around.

"Hi there, Kaley," he just barely managed to say before she leaped on him, crushing him in a hug, laughing and crying at the same time. He didn't even get a good look at her, she'd moved so fast.

"Is it you? Is it really you?!" she shouted into his shoulder.

He laughed. "It's me. It's really me." He gave her a final squeeze and set her down. Her hair was a good couple inches longer, and she wasn't wearing any makeup(probably wasn't any left), but that amazing smile of hers lit up her whole face in a pleasantly familiar way. "It's great to see you again! What are you--" he glanced down at her stomach. "Holy shit, you're pregnant!"

"Holy shit, you've got brown hair!" she fired back smartly, wiping tears from her cheeks.

"Wiseass," he replied, laughing. "Well, congratulations to you and the proud papa. Wait, is it...?"

"Oh no, not him." She rolled her eyes. "I got lucky there. No, I found someone new after him. A couple months after you left. He used to be on the Watch."

"They guy that brought you to see me?"

She nodded. "He had to go to Muskeget for about a month because he helped me, but they let him come back to Nantucket and be a farmhand." She laughed, looking down at her stomach. "Near as we can figure, he knocked me up the first night we were together. But what the hell are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He opened his vest a bit to show his stomach. "I'm six months along, myself!"

Kaley laughed. "Seriously!"

"Seriously, I knocked up someone."

"What, a..." she suddenly looked conspiratorial. "...A native?" she whispered.

He chuckled. "Yes. It's a bit of a long story, but suffice it to say, I got past all my...troubles out on Cape Cod, and I found someone. She makes me happy, I think I make her happy, and hell, her dad even thinks I'm an OK guy."

"But why did you bring her with you? Isn't it dangerous?"

Packer sipped his water. "I figure it's better for her to have my kid here than in the wilderness. Besides, now I've got an incentive to fix things. Make it safe for everyone."

"Excuse me, Mister Packer?" The male nurse from the ER was standing in the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt, but you've got some people here to see you. Machinists."

"Oh, balls," Packer growled. "Where are they?"

"In the waiting room, just outside the maternity wing. We only let fathers-to-be in here."

"Of course. Tell them I'll be out in a minute. Thanks." He turned to Kaley. "Speaking of, where's your beau?"

"Oh, I'm just here for a checkup. He's been busy out on the Bartlett Farm with aftermath of the harvest. Lots of stuff to do."

Packer nodded. "Listen, can you do me a huge favor?"

"Anything," she said instantly.

"I gotta go talk to these guys," Packer said. "It might take a few hours. Can you keep my wife company?"

"Huh?" Her jaw dropped. "But...I...what am I...is she...?"

"Relax," Packer said. "She knows enough English to convey pretty much any point. She can even read a bit. God, she's so fucking smart, Kaley! I can't teach her fast enough. But you'll see."

"Okay..." Kaley went on uncertainly.

"Listen, I've dragged her away from everyone and everything she knows. She's putting on a brave face, but I know she's fucking terrified. It would be a great thing for her to have...just someone to talk to, you know? A friendly face other than me."

Kaley nodded. "Alright, Packer. But she won't get the idea that we...?"

Packer laughed. "She won't care. In my tribe, it's assumed that all men are attracted to all women and vice versa. There's no chance for tension to build. She may ask, but just answer with the truth. It will neither surprise nor trouble her that you're my friend."

Kaley nodded again. "OK. Any forbidden topics?"

"None," Packer said. "In fact, you're probably going to find out just how I am in the sack. She apparently brags about me quite a bit."

Kaley laughed. "That should be interesting."

"Her name is Nara, by the way." Packer finished his water. "Listen, Doctor Reynolds--Yasmine--will be by when she's done with Nara. Shouldn't be long. Just sit tight until then. I'll be back ASAP, OK?"

"You got it," Kaley said. She reached out suddenly and took his hands in hers. "I'm really glad to see you again, Packer."

"I'm really glad to see you too, Kaley," Packer said earnestly. He suddenly choked up a bit, his eyes getting misty. "You know you snapped me out of it, right?"

Her eyes went wide. "I did?"

"Not right away. I was still...like how you saw me...for another day or so. But it got the process going. Things started getting through to me, or rather, I started to see what was really happening. And then, I just...woke up. Too late to save myself, I thought, but it all worked out in the end. So, thank you. Thank you for trying."

She squeezed his hands, tears welling up in her eyes again. He smiled, and walked out of the lounge.

Okay, time to put my game face on. He took a deep breath and shook himself out as he walked, his stride becoming purposeful, the set of his jaw becoming stern. He exited the maternity ward and walked to the entrance of the waiting room, which was the same place he'd stashed his spear a few hours ago.

There were four of them there, bundled up in dirty, heavy-duty work clothes, with ball-peen hammers hanging off their hips: Andrew, Tommy, Rustbucket, and of course, Jason Terrance. They stopped their excited chatter, and stood in unison, looking at him in awe, like he was some kind of legend brought to life.

And Alferd Packer looked at Jason Terrance with contempt and snarled, voice dripping with disgust, "You fucking idiot."

---

"There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance--that principle is contempt prior to investigation." -Herbert Spencer

"Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain." - Schiller, Die Jungfrau von Orleans, III vi.

So he's finally back. I wonder how long until the Council finds out. I give it 6 hours, tops.

---

My Xbox Live Gamertag is Sergeant Matt

"Faith is the great cop-out, the great excuse to evade the need to think and evaluate evidence. Faith is belief in spite of, even perhaps because of, the lack of evidence." -Richard Dawkins

That's probably about right. The Watch would know about five minutes after Packer and Nara walked into the door of the hospital. It'd take up to an hour for the news to bounce around the Watch and for someone to find and inform an awake Council-critter. It'd take a couple hours after that to get the Council-within-the-Council awake and gathered to hear the news, and another hour or two on top of that to convene an emergency session of the whole Council. At which point the whole process grinds to a halt as the Council attempts to figure out what to do next. Whatever they decide to do promptly runs into a wall while the Den Mothers, who undoubtedly found out Packer had come back within the second hour after he walks in, discuss the immediate implications of Nara. Then the Council, the Den Mothers, and the Watch butt heads for a while.

In short, Packer (probably) has nothing to worry about until about midday on Day 161.

*cough*361*cough*

Great update.

Right now, Packer and Nara should be kept away from the pregnant women, for the very reason that they (the women) are imuno-compromised, and Packer and Nara are potentially carrying a whole host of pathogens.

I am surprised that the Watch didn't set up a cordon around the hospital when Packer showed up there. It strikes me as one of those standing orders that would be in place after his survival was confirmed (IE "If found on Nantucket, Secure that Area and Isolate until further Instructions").

As a third point, some council members might know sooner, if they live near the route that Packer takes to the hospital.

At this point, though, the Council's hands may be tied - after all, publically, they gave Packer a mission, and he accomplished it. If - as he seems to be doing with the Machinists right now - he's planning on lying low for the moment, it's a possibility that the Council will feel unable to react. With Packer clamping down on political activity, if the Council moves now they may expose their true motives. People may have discounted the wild conspiracy theories before, but if they see the Watch come and arrest Packer shortly after his Triumphant Return From a Successful Mission™, they may start believing them now. It would be almost as if the FBI had gunned down the makers of Loose Change. Things like that tend to lend credibility to someone's claims of conspiracy.

Of course, the Council could have the Watch arrest him and pretend that he's being "debriefed", but I imagine that explanation wouldn't hold for too long; a few days max. After that people are definitely going to suspect something's up. Quarantine wouldn't work as an explanation since he's already in the hospital. Either way they've got trouble on their hands.

Oh, yeah. If that idea comes up in Council, I'd like to have words with whoever was fool enough to suggest it.

---

This space dedicated to Vasily Arkhipov.

Only if they don't have the political will and can't get out in front of this - and fast.



The council does not know what Packer is up too at this point nor what his intentions are, and was not expecting Nara at all. He's a variable, and much to big of one to be left to his own devices.



Political legitimacy takes second fiddle to survival. I'm not sure how many members of the forum recognize this. Packer didn't when his charter got shot down, and his followers don't now.



Two words: Protective Custody. You can even hold him at the hospital if you need too, but he needs to be kept away from everyone for his own saftey. What happens when some young guy on a tear-down crew realizes that his hero doesn't want to overthrow the council? Could the young nut go after him with some tools? What if they go after Nara?



If I was on the council, I would be voicing the need for Debriefing, Quarantine and Protective custody of Packer and his companion to all who would listen, and even those who wouldn't.