SDN In the Sea of Time

[Tiwaz]

It has very real chance to backfire into pointless circle accusation which would not really serve any interests in the Council.

Thing is, a merry-go-round can only last so long, and whoever makes the first big, visible mistake or is hit with the first big, visible evidence of treachery falls off. James is doing more to provide evidence of treachery than Simon is.[/quote]

But how much of it is solid evidence? Without any, it's same as with Packer. One guy says they are doing one thing, another claims opposite. One who manages to convince more people is guy who "wins".

At that argument, making appealing and convincing argument trumps being right, since there is no evidence.

LGetting Packer dead is worse, because they'll know damn well that someone ordered it, and he's the prime suspect. Killing him can only be justified in the eyes of someone who is absolutely certain that he's nothing more than a rogue and that he is not making his promises related to the natives in good faith. While many on the Council are suspicious of Packer, very few of them will endorse killing him before at least taking the time to investigate his claims.

As I said, if he can prevent it from being proven to be his fault.
Without proof, everyone might think he had it done, but nobody can prove it. Lack of proof means he gets off from the mess, some feathers ruffled but overall winner.

Packer is dead, whatever arrangements he had in mainland are now moot since reviving him is impossibility. All the Council can do is stay the course and try to convince Nara over the winter that she should speak on behalf of the strangers to her tribe.

]Wait, what? Proving that Packer has told at least one lie does not prove that everything else he says is a lie. And yet James has no reason to assume, a priori, that it's all a lie. The brute fact of Packer's survival proves that he must have had at least some support on the mainland; everyone on the Council knows quite well that he'd have been doomed without native help. In fact, they were counting on exactly that, because they expected him to die on the mainland.

As I have tried to say... Issue is on credibility on claims of both sides. Neither can provide solid proof for their claims. Nara can be said to be taught to say certain things. Beyond that it is one guy saying this and another saying that.

Anything, and that is anything, which can be used to chip opponents credibility is a weapon. Like James said about goading Packer into losing his temper.
His past as troublemaker.
Bringing up that he is lying about pregnancy.

Yes, child could be "adopted" but Packer has not made any reference to it.

One lie does not mean he lies always, but it is a sign that person can be dishonest. Of course, all humans are dishonest. But when pointed out and proven, it has psychological impact on our view of person.

[kh1]

Would the reason behind the ill-fated move have been overconfidence ?

My take is that Kramnik believed (in error) that he had the advantage and was on the way to an easy win, instead he made the wrong play, and Fritz mated in 1.

Of interest is the move can be perceived as having been made against Fritz' Queen.

Also of interest is the move against Fritz' Queen is made by Kramnik's Queen.

To take the symbology further, James "bombshell" (snip snip) comes from Kaley and Gail -- The obvious embodiment of the Nantucket Establishment (Kramnik's) Queens.

Kramnik's move seemed to him to be correct, but it had a fatal flaw that resulted in mate -- it was a patently "false" move.

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

Editor's Note: This takes place on day 360, post-arrival . . .

Riders on the Storm
"Mister Dumfries, I'm glad you could make it," the Old Man said, sitting across the table from one Kevin Dumfries, former head of the Horticulturalists. Both men regarded each other across that table in the dim lamplight. The only other sound to be heard was the faint patter of rainfall on the roof.

"I don't recall being given much of a choice. The Watch, the Constabulary . . . guess you assholes are all the same after all."

"To be fair, they only brought you in because I told them to," the Old Man replied. "Because it's important." He extended his hand. "The name's Toby. I just wanted to have a chat with you."

"So the 'Old Man' really does have a name, huh," Kevin said, ignoring the offered hand. "Thought you traded that in when they issued you the jackboots. What do you want with me?"

"What do you think I want with you, Kevin?"

"Oh, I don't know," Kevin replied, leering. "To give me a matched set of chipped teeth? I can't imagine what more you Nantucket nazis could want with me."

I winced. Three months of time wasn't enough to blunt the man's bitterness. He was on that boat with me, when we came out here. And he was the first man to speak up when they were hazing us. That earned him a lot of latrine-cleaning. Fortunately for all of us, we'd managed to convince him that the Constabulary wasn't the Watch.

"We're not jackbooted thugs," the Old Man replied. "That doesn't mean we haven't made some bad calls in the past; but I'd like to think we can work to get past that now."

Kevin shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He chuckled, it was a bitter sound. "And yet I'm still out here," he said. "And I notice the Vineyard's going through boom times right now. I wonder why?"

"Things change, Mister Dumfries. Power shifts, people move on, and conditions change. What's not good one day, may become good the next. And, sometimes, old friends make an appearance," he leaned over, across the table. "What do you know about Al Packer, Mister Dumfries?"

"Nothing," Kevin replied. "Except you and your Council sent him out to die."

"Is that so," the Old Man said. "Yet, I've heard a song about him. I've read pamphlets," he added, throwing a glance in my direction. Even now, I winced. "All of which maintain that he's still alive, smug in the knowledge that he was cast into the briar patch. Where he's safe, free to plan his return."

"Wishful thinking," Kevin replied, harrumphing. "When you killed him, you gave a lot of guys a bloody shirt to wave. Hear that's going real well for you."

"I regret that," the Old Man said. Kevin gaped at him. "It was wrong to be so . . . hasty to send Packer off. To silence his friends and colleagues. Just because someone says something you don't like . . . doesn't mean that it's wrong, or should be silenced."

Kevin's jaw worked for a moment. And then he narrowed his eyes. "Yeah . . . sure," he said, though, for the first time, the defiance in his voice seemed to waver. "Ain't any good telling that to me. You should've told that to Packer . . . months ago. Before you sent him away."

The Old Man sat up, clasping his hands together. "Perhaps," he said. "Let me ask you another question. What do you know of Miles Jameson?"

I watched Kevin. He looked like he was a deer in headlights, the poor bastard.

"I don't," he started. And then he apparently realized his jaw was still on the floor. Just then, the man seemed to deflate before my eyes.

"You . . . you got him, didn't you?"

Silence. The Old Man stared at him, expressionless. Kevin tried to hold his gaze, but then started looking around at the rest of us.

"No," the Old Man replied. "Jealous Much? is in the harbor, though. And we do have the young sailor who piloted her here. And he admitted he was coming to see you. Tell me, Mister Dumfries . . . how are those events related?"

"We . . . we're friends," Kevin said. "That's all. Drinking buddies." He was looking around at the rest of us, and I could see his mental gears turning.

"Yet, only his boat is here," the Old Man replied, suddenly lunging forward. His face was mere inches from Kevin's "He's back . . . isn't he?"

"I don't know what you're . . . "

"Alferd Packer is back," the Old Man said. "And he's alive . . . You have a terrible poker-face Mister Dumfries. You've known, from the moment you were brought in, why you're here." He leaned back. "Let's have it . . . Kevin . . . what do you know about Packer?"

Kevin stared back at the Old Man. As I watched, his demeanor seemed to shift. His body, previously taut, started to relax. In that moment, I knew. Al Packer was back on the big island. What that meant? I don't know yet, but as I looked around at my fellow constables; their expressions mirrored mine . . . a sense of guarded satisfaction.

"Yeah," Kevin finally said. "Okay. He's back on Nantucket, all right. For the whole day now, I'd wager."

The whole day? That would've meant coming to Nantucket under the cover of darkness. The satisfaction started to waver . . . what was he planning?

"The whole day," the Old Man echoed my thoughts. "How long has he been planning this? And why?"

Kevin convulsively shook his head. "Why should I tell you? I'm not going to be his Judas," he said.

"Let's try a different tack," the Old Man replied. "What do you know of the situation on Nantucket? Since you were sent out here?" For a moment the two men stared at each other in silence. "You're probably thinking that the Watch is waiting to swoop down and do the bidding of the Council. If that's the case, then what you think is wrong. If you're thinking your silence will help Packer; that thinking is wrong as well."

"I guess you're here to tell me what's right, then," Kevin said. The hostility was starting to creep back into his voice.

"No," the Old Man replied with a shake of his head. "I'm merely going to lay out the facts for you. If you help me, you help Packer. The reason is simple . . . Packer is walking into a trap."

I stopped, mid-breath. The others stopped as well. A trap? What was the Old Man getting at?

"You know that the Watch was removed from the Council," he continued. "But did you know that they've recruited their own people to fill the spaces we left behind? People loyal to those who would see the Council transform itself into the . . . oligarchy you've long accused it of being. People who see Packer as a threat to everything they hold dear. Did you know this, Mister Dumfries?"

This was, sure as hell, the first I knew about it! I know the Watch had been kicked off the Council, but my understanding was that we were doing it because it was time Nantucket's police-cum-military were placed under civilian oversight. You know, the way things usually worked back in the future. Admittedly, I didn't stay on Nantucket for too long after that.

"I . . . no . . . " Kevin started. "We knew the big threat was the Council . . . " He stopped, looking at the Old Man, and then myself.

I shook my head. "Sorry man, cat's out of the bag," and it was a wild, wild cat. With sharp teeth and claws. You ain't going to see me trying to put it back in!

For a long time, Kevin stared down at the table. Finally, he took a deep breath. "We figured that if we got him to the hospital ASAP, he and Nara'd be safe and the Council would have time to calm down."

"Nara?"

"He's married now. She's carrying his kid! He just wants to do right, make the world safer for his family . . . We're not revolutionaries anymore. You beat it out of us!"

Married? Kid? But I thought that . . . no, I shook it off. Not important right now. I looked at the Old Man. His expression was thoughtful.

"The Council may not see it that way," he said. "Without the Watch to mediate, it seems that the Council has only become more . . . partisan. More polarized. Packer will be safe, as long as he stays at the hospital. But the moment he leaves, his enemies on the Council will take direct, non-political, action."

"But that's . . . won't the Watch stop it?"

The Old Man shook his head. "The Watch has a lot of irons in the fire right now, and not a lot of presence on Nantucket. They are to keep the peace, which is going to mean containment. Packer's return will set a lot of fires, all of which have to be put out before anything else can be done."

I nodded. Anything that'd come at Packer would be small-scale. Nothing big, nothing flashy. I shuddered and glanced at Kevin. The look on his face told me that the same things were going through his mind.

"So he's going to get killed, then."

"Not if I can help it," the Old Man replied.

"For what it's worth," I added, "neither will the Constabulary."

"Why the fuck are you telling me all of this," Kevin said, his lips curling up in a snarl. "What the fuck can I do? I'm all the way on Goddamn Martha's Vineyard, and you're telling me Alferd Packer is gonna sleep with the fishes."

Slam! The Old Man's hand slammed down onto the table.

"Because I'm here Mister Dumfries! Packer's return neatly coincides with the week that I was scheduled to be here! With the Watch over there and headless as a result! Our leadership is all over the place, working to make sure Nantucket survives its second winter. I'm here telling you about this, because that's how you wanted it to be!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the solid log and mud walls couldn't contain the Old Man's words. He shook his head and sat back down. Took a few deep breaths.

"Do you want to know how you can help Packer, Kevin," he finally asked.

Kevin nodded, ever so slightly.

"Tell me everything," the Old Man said. "Get me into his mind, Kevin. I'm going to have to talk fast when I get back to Nantucket, and I don't want there to be any doubt in his mind that we're on his side. No more Mexican standoffs. This situation will be resolved, and it will be resolved without lies or innocent bloodshed."

Kevin sat there silently. "Are you really on his side," he said.

The Old Man nodded. "I'm certain you had the help of Watchmen, in getting him back to Nantucket. I'm not asking you to name names, I'm just telling you. They were not acting in spite of anything I've told them, but because I allowed them the freedom to act . . . knowing where their loyalties lie. We're after the same thing; a Nantucket not held together by fear."

Kevin seemed to mull this over.

"Okay," he finally said. "I'll talk . . . but only because I'll helping Packer."

The Old Man nodded. He turned to me.

"Would it be too much to hope for that you Martha's Vineyard types have managed to smuggle some coffee out here?"

I chuckled, shaking my head.

"We may be a band of rough n' ready ruffians, but we're not wizards. If it's gone back there, it's gone here."

"That's unfortunate," the Old Man replied.

"We do, however, have biscuits, blackberry preserves, and pine-needle tea. Not quite coffee, but it'll do in a pinch."

"I'll vouch for that," Kevin added.

The Old Man nodded, mollified. "Very well," he said. "Let's get a pot of tea started; Kevin and I are going to have a long talk."

[Alferd Packer]

Day 361, Evening, Nantucket

Packer leaned against the wall outside the ladies' room directly adjacent from the conference room, waiting for Nara. Thinking back, he was amazed that she'd held it for as long as she did; he'd needed to drain the vein pretty badly himself, when all was said and done.

Most of the Councilors had left, save about a dozen. The Shark and the Chairman vamoosed together, and right away. This bothered Packer, as now, surely, the Shark would attempt to put his spin on the entire evening, but the Chairman seemed like a reasonable fellow. And, after all, he was only one man. There were plenty of other Councilors whom Packer was sure he'd swayed at least a little, and some quite a lot.

Is it going to be enough? Packer thought with a frown.

Well, it had to be. What more could he offer? There was peace with the Machinists, his full cooperation, and a way to safely expand to the mainland. That was a pretty good deal, right?

He watched the clump of Councilors closest to him, in particular, Simon(what was his last name? Packer couldn't, for the life of him, remember) and Gail Underhill. They were conversing quietly, and--no, now Gail had split off and Simon was coming towards him. With a small shove, Packer came up from leaning on the wall.

Simon, like everyone else, was not fat...anymore. Packer seemed to recall him being a little pudgy even back in April, but there was no way that could last an entire year. He looked broad, but trim. His glasses certainly hadn't changed, though; Packer recalled distinctly how thick the lens was over his left eye. Bet he protects those glasses with his life.

Simon stopped just shy of invading Packer's personal space--not that Packer would've necessarily minded. "Mr. Packer, I owe you an apology."

Interesting. "Uh, an apology? How do you mean?"

Simon replied, "Remember the Charter vote? I was one of the fourteen. That last night, when they--we--decided to exile you? Voted against that too." He paused, looking down for a moment. "I owe you an apology for not doing more, and for not doing it right."

"Hmm, never thought I'd hear that," Packer said. "Well, I'd accept your apology, but hey, you did all you reasonably could, and I think that's pretty cool of you. And you know what? If I'd never gotten shipped out, I'd have never met my wife, so in the end, I guess we can call it a wash. Shake?" Packer held out his hand.

Simon looked down at it for the briefest of moments, and they shook. The look on Simon's stubbly face suggested to Packer immense gratitude--even relief.

"So, Simon," Packer went on, "Jason filled me in a bit about you helping out down the shop. I'm impressed, and so was he. I hope he told you that."

"I kind of got the feeling. He's not one to lavish praise on people, is he?"

"In his own way, he is. He's rather...inventive with vulgarity. A true artist!" Packer laughed a bit.

"I'd rate him as second place on the whole island. No, scratch that, third. Anyway, how's hunting and/or gathering?"

Packer smiled; he now remembered why he liked this guy. "Well, gathering's easy. That's what I spent a lot of time doing. Bounty of the sea, and all that. Hunting is hard, though. But I had a good teacher, and I'm always learning. Together, we made a good team."

Simon replied quickly, "Let me guess. You were the bait."

Packer chuckled. "Ha! Just once, actually. Most of the time, we were after things smaller than ourselves. Fortunately, having that crossbow helped out more than you can know."

Simon said suddenly, "Hmm......are the natives still using atlatls, or have they invented the bow and arrow yet?"

Atlatl? Packer though with bewilderment. Does he have something caught in his throat? He replied: "Atlatl, that's.....oh! Dart throwers! Yeah, they use them. But I, uh..."

Simon interjected, "Let me guess. You invented the bow and arrow."

Packer replied, "Right on the money again, sir."

Simon scratched his chin, then said, "Oh... kay. I can see that having been a good idea. Makes things a little more interesting, but mostly in the sense of 'not quite so wildly unfair.' I can't complain, all things considered."

Packer folded his arms. "Well, remember something, Simon. They're my people. I'm not going to keep the knowledge locked up in my head just because it breaks the natural flow of history, you know? I'm not obeying any sort of Prime Directive or anything like that."

Simon replied quickly, "Oh, I understand perfectly. I think... you know, I do believe I'd feel the same way. I think. I'm... pretty sure."

"Sure you would," Packer said. "And that's one of the reasons I came back, too. There's so much basic knowledge here that could help us so much."

Simon seemed to look through Packer for a moment, apparently lost in thought. Hell, maybe he was just tired. When his eyes refocused on Packer, he said, "Are they up to agriculture yet? I don't remember when that was introduced on the Atlantic Seaboard. I mean, I'm pretty sure they're doing it down in Peru, but that might as well be on another planet..."

"Indeed," Packer replied. "But no, there's no agriculture as such. We burn down swaths of forest to allow wild edibles to better grow, but there's no active sowing of crops, irrigation, or that sort of thing."

"How's it working out for th... ah, you guys?"

Packer smiled a bit. He's starting to get it. At least someone is. "I think we're at the limit of what the land can support, to be honest. The next step is actively sowing crops. Cultivating plants. Irrigation. You know, what they're doing over in Europe right now."

Simon replied, "Aber naturlich. Would you like some seed grain? I think we can shake some loose. Some. Well, assuming the Eagle gets back in approximately one piece."

Packer leaned back against the wall. "Among other things, yes. I'm not a farmer, so having a gaggle of them handy on Cape Cod, plus maybe someone to come up with a system of irrigation ditches, would be essential."

Simon replied: "If it's tolerably secure, we might as well plant there as here. Have to look into that. Hopefully we can offer better technical support than the Wampanoag did. All they offered was one crazy bastard who wandered into the Pilgrims' camp one day and said 'Hello. My name is The Wrath of God.' Squanto. Hah!"

Packer chuckled, then the door to the ladies' room swung open and Nara emerged. She looked at Simon with some measure of unease, then stood next to Packer, a little standoffish. She spoke to Packer in their creole: "Why does he have that thing on his face?"

"It lets him see better," Packer replied. "He reads a lot. He needs hunter's eyes. Just not to hunt."

"Is he a friend?" she asked plainly.

"He's a friend," Packer confirmed.

Packer then turned to Simon, who'd waited through this patiently. "Simon, this is my wife, Nara. Nara, this is Simon."

He turned to face her for a second, "Pleased to meet you." Simon then paused, turning back to Packer. "Ah, would I be making a fool of myself in some comical way if I bow?"

Packer said quietly, "You could, but it'd probably be easier if you shake her hand." He gestured to her outstretched hand. Simon looked, and Nara caught his eyes with hers.

"Hello, Simon. It is nice to meet you." She lifted her eyebrows a bit in expectation.

Simon shook her hand and bowed at about a fifteen degree angle at about the same time. He then straightened up, a grin on his face. "Compromise! That's the ticket!"

Packer chuckled. Nara asked, "What is a ticket?"

Simon stammered, "Ah... um..." He stopped, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Packer grinned; Simon had quite a chin to him. Not quite Jay Leno, but in that neck of the woods. At any rate, a few seconds later, Simon came up with: "It's a small piece of paper we give people to say they can get something else."

Not a bad explanation. But if I know Nara, she won't take that at face value. Nara replied, "The people cannot just ask for it? Do you write many things down like this?"

Simon replied a touch wistfully, "Some days, I wonder if I'll ever do anything else. But I spend more time writing things down than most people."

Nara seemed a bit more at ease. "Yes, you are an Elder. But you are so young!" Packer smiled to himself. The thing that was so goddamn tragic about Nara's situation before Packer was that she was shunned by her peers. She wanted to belong--to be a part of the gang, a part of the tribe. But they thought she was cursed because her husband died, so aside from her family, she was a stranger in her own land. Simon would probably never know how much good his interaction was doing for Nara.

Speaking of, Simon was laughing at Nara's observation. "You have no idea how often I hear that! I think I've gotten ten years older just doing this job for one year. It's a very long, very strange story."

Nara smiled. "I would like to hear that story. My husband says you have many stories to tell. Everyone does."

Simon replied, "Telling stories would be nice. Some day, when I can catch my breath. When there's more time."

Packer jumped in. "Simon is very busy because of the Council. Isn't that right?"

"Well, I do have people to speak to, places to... well, no places to go. But..." Simon's voice suddenly dropped, "I do have a political opposition to arm-wrestle; and hoo boy, is that going to be a toughie." Simon raised a hand to his forehead, resting his fingers along his hairline. Packer was suddenly reminded of that picture of Captain Picard that was invariably posted on the board when someone said something idiotic or worrying, even if the gesture wasn't exactly the same.

Nara seemed to detect Simon's weariness. "Will you help us, Simon?"

Simon straightened up instantly. "What do you need?"

"What my husband said. Teaching. The people coming back with us in the spring."

Simon nodded. "With that, I will be helping as much as I can. I would like to learn your language. Though I'm not good at learning languages."

Nara said offhandedly, "It is easy. Even my husband learned!" She laughed.

Simon chuckled, glancing at Packer. "Nara, has your husband ever mentioned the words total immersion?"

Nara thought for a moment, sounding out the words silently. "No. But he says he needed to learn. But I understood him without speaking."

Packer jumped in again: "Charades, Simon. Until I was blue in the face."

Simon paused, either considering this or not knowing what to say. Either way, Packer followed up with: "So, Simon, in your honest opinion. What odds do I have of getting this proposal implemented?"

Simon didn't respond immediately, but when he did, he came back with: "That is a good question."

"That's why I asked it," Packer said with a grin.

Simon said, a bit ruefully, "Let me try to wring the optimism out of my brain. I remember what happened the last time I gave you an optimistic answer."

Packer grumbled, "Ah yes. Only six more votes."

Simon went right on. "Right. To be fair, I had me fooled too; I was about a third of the way through a draft constitution myself when the vote came down."

Packer was honestly surprised by this. "Hmm! Did you ever finish it?"

Simon replied. "No, not really. A bit further along. Never ran it past enough people for a decent sanity check."

"You should," Packer said earnestly. "I think it's a good idea, still. Again, this is just my own opinion and is in no way an official endorsement."

"Well... there's a problem."

Packer muttered, "There's often more than one."

Simon continued, "Let me put it this way. Every time any news involving you or a Machinist protest came out, I had to push back the deadline for proposing it by another three months if I wanted to be able to convince a majority. A lot of people are not objective...at certain times. Also, I am not very good at convincing majorities."

Packer sighed. "So you're probably up to three years from now, huh?"

Simon appeared to do a quick calculation of some sort in his head, saying, "No, I was actually figuring on either late this winter or right after spring planting. I... think it would work. I think."

Packer nodded. "Good. Listen, I think my approach was wrong, for what it's worth."

"So do I," Simon said. "Did Jason ever pass on "Council Politics 101?"

Packer laughed. "Can't argue with the end result, I guess."

Simon said gravely, "Exactly." He paused a beat. "Look, as for the original proposal...your odds, if people are objective, are damned good. Multiply it by the odds that people will be objective and... harder to say."

Packer considered this. "Well, it's a goddamned relief that you and, presumably, others, are going to bat for me. I think you're a damned decent fellow for doing it, and I'll tell you why..."

Simon interrupted. "But... but... it's...Packer, I think I'd have to be completely insane to say no!"

Packer scratched his stubble, which was a bit further along than Simon's. "Saying no is not the same as trying to convince others to say yes. The latter takes more balls than...something with a lot of balls. But what you are doing, in trying, is trying to help people. But more than that, you're trying to help my family. Not just Nara, or my daughter. But people whom I love, and whom you've never met. That's downright noble of you."

Simon paused, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes. Christ, he looks half dead on his feet, Packer thought. I bet he was up all damn night. At length, he said, "Thank you. Sometimes... well, when we have more time, I'd like to show you a Kipling poem. The Reformer, I think it was." His eyes opened suddenly. "Never mind."

Packer considered this. "We've got the whole winter in front of us. We could do a reading at the next talent show, right?"

"Maybe. There are a surprising number of Kipling fans around here."

Packe shrugged. "All that matters to me is that you're trying. Even if you fail, and we get deported, I can at least know that I tried, and that there were decent people who tried, as well. I'll be able to sleep at night, knowing that."

Simon smiled a bit bashfully: "I aim to please."

Packer couldn't help but smile back. "Well, your aim's pretty good, if you ask me. And I should know, because I'm crack shot with a bow." He snickered at himself.

"Ha! Fair enough, fair enough." Simon's smile went away. "Anyway, back to politics. I really think we can... I really think this will go through, can anyway, but... well, you saw the obstacle course."

"The Sea of Assholes." Packer frowned. "Hmmm...probably sounds better in Latin. Anyway, I won't lie and say I'm not worried about them, but I am willing to trust you to do the best you can."

"Mar Cloacae?" Simon smiled for a moment, then his serious look returned. "I've got a few shots in the ready magazine. I just hope it helps. Sometimes I'm a divider, not a uniter, as it were."

Packer snorted. "If you're not pissing at least someone off, I think, then what you're doing probably isn't worthwhile. So, let them be mad. Let them fight you...as long as you beat them."

Simon looked unsure. "Hmm... ah... well... dunno. I mean, I didn't tick anyone off the day I first proposed dismounting a truck motor and using it as a stationary engine. But I'm pretty sure that was worthwhile." He paused, thinking deeply for a moment. "But yeah, I see what you mean."

It was then that Packer noted someone coming over to join them. Gail Underhill, looking severe, but in control, strolled up and joined them "Simon. Mister and Missus Packer. I've been in touch with some of the Watchmen outside, and I've secured you transportation to your new home. I've also had someone swing by and alert Kaley and Bill to your arrival."

Packer smiled, but not too much. "Wonderful. Thank you, Gail."

Gail nodded briefly. "Not at all. The Watchman down there will escort you to your car."

Packer took a look down the hallway. "Excellent. So, what are you guys up to this evening? Simon?"

Simon looked at Gail. "Creative intrigue, looks like. Gail, I may need to have a word with you about that."

Packer couldn't help himself. "Ah, so that's what you kids call it these days." Half her age, huh? He leaned over to Nara and whispered, "I think they're a pair." She looked at them and giggled at the absurdity.

Simon looked at Packer blankly for a bit. If it was possibly to be slightly horrified, that's what Gail looked like. Then, Simon's face lit up in understanding.

"Mister Packer," Gail said as sternly as she could manage, "it is highly inappropriate to suggest that..." she trailed off, as though she couldn't bring herself to say it. Packer, in the mean time, just grinned wider and wider.

Meanwhile, Simon's mouth was working helplessly, like he was trying to say something. He raised a finger, as though begging for a moment to gather his thoughts--then literally fell to the ground, laughing.

Wow, Packer thought. I actually made someone ROFL. Never thought I'd do that in all my life. Packer laughed, as did Nara. Even Gail couldn't help herself and had a brief chuckle.

Simon got to his feet, having to lean against the wall, barely able to catch his breath. "No... no... not at all. She's more like a mother-in-law to me." He gasped, clutching his sides.

Packer turned to Gail. "So, that implies that you, Gail, a Den Mother to so many girls, have Simon as a son-in-law because...."

Simon jumped in, "Well, it's not officially official yet."

"Certainly," Packer said. "Who's the lucky gal?"

Simon was composing himself as he spoke. "Kaley's old roommate, believe it or not."

Packer choked off a laugh. "Small world."

Simon looked a bit bemused as he spoke. "You wouldn't think an inordinate fondness for spreadsheets could form a basis for a relationship, or maybe it's our shared thing for coke-bottle glasses."

Packer clapped the other man on the shoulder. "Simon, after the last six months, I'll believe just about anything when it comes to two people finding each other."

Simon glanced at Nara. "OK. Point. Definitely a point."

Gail, back to her old self, said, "So, Simon, will you be coming back with me to Point Breeze? I was planning on catching a lift with some of the pregnant girls from the maternity wing."

Simon looked around: "Since we seem to have adjourned for the night here, sounds fair. I really do need to talk tactics, I think. I don't want us to mow each other down in the cross-fire or anything."

Gail checked her wristwatch. "Well, the preggo van is about to depart. Shall we?"

"By all means, by all means," Simon replied.

Gail turned to Packer and Nara. "Mister and Missus Packer, it was a pleasure. Simon, I'll meet you at the ambulance bay. Need to make one more stop." She headed off back down the hall.

Packer watched her go, then said, "Simon, thanks again. I'm glad I've still got some friends on the Council."

Simon replied earnestly, "It helps to come back with a good plan, it truly does. If you hadn't, I... well, I don't know what I would have done."

Packer shrugged. "Probably a moot point, because if I didn't have a plan, I probably wouldn't have come back." Simon took a deep breath, nodding slowly.

Nara said, "But I am glad we came here. My husband said there were good people here. And it is true."

Simon: "Thank you. We mostly work at it."

Packer smiled. "That's all I ever asked of my guys at the shop, and that's all I can ask of you." He thrust out his hand again. "Seriously, this means a lot to me. Thanks."

Simon shook his hand, then blurted out, "Seriously, though, do you think the dismounted engines are a good idea? It saved us having to make our own steam... never mind." Packer laughed.

Nara held out her hand, too. "It was nice to meet you, Simon." As he shook her hand, she added, "I would like to hear that story."

Simon smiled slightly. "Tomorrow, maybe."

Packer smiled too. "OK, I think we've kept the Watchman waiting long enough." He nodded at the guy at the far end of the hall. "Swing by tomorrow if you've got the time. If not, I guess we'll see you when the Council reaches its decision, right?"

Simon nodded sharply. "Definitely."

Packer said, "Great. Good seeing you again, Simon. Take care."

"You too!"

Day 361, Night, Nantucket

"Welcome home!" Kaley said when she opened the door. The dim light which illuminated Packer and Nara on the front stoop of the largish Victorian that was Kaley and Bill's house was wholly welcoming, compared to the soggy, chilly October night outside. It had stopped raining on the car ride over, but it looked like it could start up at any time--or clear out.

"Come on in, guys!" Kaley sounded boundlessly enthusiastic, and glancing at his wife, Packer noted that Nara appeared quite excited as well. Kaley took the bags she was holding, and Nara wrestled the remaining ones Packer was holding from his grasp. She then stepped in, and Packer turned to face the Watchmen.

"Thanks for bringing us, guys," he said, holding his hand out. It was shaken in turn by both of them.

"Not a problem, Mister Packer," the tall one said. He doffed his policeman's cap. Actually, it's a Watchman's cap now. "Just wish I could've answered your wife's questions about how a car works a little better."

Packer shrugged. "Hey, I'm happy that you tried, and so is she. You guys gonna be out here all night?"

"Normally, I think we'd get relieved at midnight," the second guy said. "Although, since we're scattered all across Hell tonight, who can say for sure? But someone will be here. This is a pretty quiet part of town, though, so I wouldn't expect anything." They were quiet for a moment; someone's dog was barking ferociously. "That's about all you'll hear," he added. "Whenever we make a noise louder than an owl's fart, someone's dog goes nuts. But since we've only got to watch this place, you shouldn't hear a peep."

"Right," Packer said. Why the hell am I so goddamn on edge? he thought miserably. Go inside, asshole! "Are there neighbors?"

"Uh," the tall one began. "I think the house on your left and the one behind you have some people there. You won't see them, I'd wager. Most couples are home by dinnertime. Like my partner said, nice and quiet."

"Cool. Well, thanks again." Packer picked up his spear and stepped into the house. He shut the door, latching it and drawing the chain. He was standing in a large foyer, with a staircase leading up to the second floor on the right-hand side of the room, which was an exterior wall. Its dimensions suggested that this house had quite high ceilings throughout.

The foyer was not directly lit, of course, but facing the door there was a short hallway that led to another room which seemed to be cheerily glowing. "In here, Packer!" Kaley's voice called out. Shrugging, Packer leaned his spear in the corner, took off his boots, and padded towards the glow. He passed on his left what looked like a formal dining room, which was almost entirely dark.

The room he entered through the short hallway was the living room. Kaley stood near a table, hands on her hips. "Kissing them goodbye?" she asked with a smirk.

"In a manner of speaking," Packer replied. The room looked cozy, with a roaring hearth fire, a few easy chairs, a couch, and a love seat. Nara was checking everything out in wonder, running her hand over the different fabrics.

Kaley's fiancé was standing behind her, and he stepped forward dutifully. "Welcome home, Packer," he said. "We haven't been formally introduced. Bill Jorgensen."

Jorgensen. Given his hulking physique, flowing blond hair, and stormy blue eyes, Packer suspected that Bill was a Wally Wasp from Wichita. Or Minnesota, as the case may be. Packer shook his head. "I remember you, I think," Packer said. "You brought Kaley to see me...just before I left, right?"

"That's right," Bill said with a smile. "In a way, you were responsible for us meeting. Well, officially. I'd be lying if I said she didn't grab my attention when I was on duty at Point Breeze." He slid an arm around Kaley's waist, and she stood on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek.

"Of course," Kaley said, "we totally ignored him. We actually have nicknames for the Watchmen, since we couldn't talk to them. We called Bill Shining Armor." Bill was about six-two and built like a brick shithouse. Packer guessed he was nearly double Kaley's weight. How the hell does he not break her in half when they fuck? he wondered suddenly. Then again, if Nara can handle me...

"So!" Bill said. "Big day, huh?"

Packer nodded gravely. "Yup. It went...okay. I convinced a couple of people, but a lot of them still don't trust me. Or they're scared by me. The people I did convince did say that they're gonna go to bat for me, so we'll see." They lapsed into a silence that was threatening to turn awkward.

"Holy shit!" Packer said, looking over at the fireplace. "You're almost out of firewood." He looked a Bill. "Want to show me where the woodpile is? I'll haul in a couple of armfuls for us?"

Bill gave Kaley a look, then said, "Yeah, sure. Got about five cords of seasoned stuff out back." Packer fetched his boots, and followed Bill outside into the night.

It was utterly black in the backyard. When Bill shut the door, the neighbor's dog started going ballistic again. "Over there," Bill said; Packer could just make out the outline of his arm. He was pointing towards a open-walled shack with a plywood roof, which was stacked to the brim with what Packer was assumed was firewood.

"Listen, Bill," Packer began. Like dogs sniffing each other's butts in the park... "I just want to let you know that...this was sprung on me. I'm sure we're imposing, but--"

"Packer," Bill's form held up a hand for him to stop. "It's OK. Kaley explained it to me...like two hours ago, when I got back from work. At first...well, you know women, right?" Packer smiled in the darkness. "But, you guys have nowhere to live, and she said that Nara's all alone and scared. I mean, hell, what was I gonna do, say no? Besides, this way, I won't give myself an ulcer worrying about Kaley being alone in this house."

"Cool," Packer said. "I just wanted to let you know that it's your house, I'm the guest, and I'll conduct myself as such."

"Nonsense, Packer." Bill reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. Packer pictured himself sinking a bit into the ground underneath Bill's massive ham-hock. I guess he's fine with another male dog joining the pack. "Kaley holds a very high opinion of you and Nara. I mean, when I was on the Watch, I heard some stuff about you that...well, was not flattering. So, I was a little skeptical when Kaley would gush about you. Kind of annoyed, actually. But she told me what Nara had told her--you know, about how you guys met."

Packer grunted.

"Well, it changed my opinion about you. It doesn't matter what they say, or what anyone says; you're a good guy, and I'll be proud to call you a friend, and have the both of you live here."

"Sounds good, Bill," Packer said. "Now let's get that firewood. It's starting to get cold out here."

Bill chuckled. "Starting? We've had a fire going at night for at least a month now." He was now piling logs into a satchel; he handed a second one to Packer. "But I guess you're used to it, huh?"

"Actually, yeah. Maybe it's the diet or the clear air, but the weather don't bother me like it did last year." He loaded up his carrier.

"Where are you from, originally? New York?"

Packer smiled in the darkness. "Good guess. Jersey. You?"

"Wisconsin."

"That a city or something?"

There was a pause. Packer guessed Bill was trying to decide if that was a joke or not. Finally, he said, "We have cold winters up there too, of course, but...I dunno. The chill is different here. Maybe it's the ocean air, or the wind. Maybe it's the lack of electricity, or central heat. When it's darker like this, it feels colder."

"Nice to have someone to warm up your bed with you," Packer remarked.

"Yeah," Bill said after a moment. "Yeah, it is. I count my lucky stars every day that I've got her."

"I hear you," Packer said, smiling. They went back inside the house.

After stacking the wood near the fireplace, they found Kaley and Nara in the kitchen; it was lit dimly with a pair of lanterns, and the only thing modern about it was the sink.

"Nara mentioned she was hungry," Kaley said. "So we're cooking up some grub. Our allocations haven't gone up yet, but they will tomorrow. In the mean time, I'll fry us up some eggs."

"The wrecking crews omitted houses that could easily be retrofitted with wood ovens," Bill said to Packer as he admired the brick stove that that been...well, bodged together, to borrow from the Queen's English. Bill went on: "This wall backs on the living-room chimney. Before we moved in, they took out the old stove and installed this one, piping into the main chimney for the exhaust. They even reinforced the joists underneath it, just in case. They're doing it to all the houses that can handle it, so we don't have to rely on the soup kitchens so much." Kaley set an ancient cast-iron skillet onto the cooktop and drizzled some kind of oil into the pan.

"What's that?" Packer asked.

"Vegetable oil," Kaley replied. "They confiscated all of it initially, and they were gonna use it for fuel, but...hell, I dunno what happened. I guess they realized that it could be put to use cooking shit before they refined it into biodiesel." Then, in a phony British accent: "Farm Boy, could you get a few logs for the fire here?"

Bill replied, "As you wish," and he ducked into the living room.

It took Packer a few moments to process what had happened, and as Bill came back with the wood, Packer exclaimed, "Buttercup!" Kaley laughed.

"It's out little joke," Bill explained. "I'm Westley, she's Buttercup."

"Well, I guess I'm Inigo," Packer replied with a smirk.

"Nah, you're Vizzini," Kaley said. "With your plans and schemes and shit."

"Being from Jersey doesn't hurt," Bill added, and Packer laughed.

"Inconceivable!" he exclaimed with a nasal whine. Packer was actually a good part Sicilian, if his grandparents were to be believed.

Nara, who'd been watching them with puzzlement, spoke up: "What are you saying? I do not understand these words."

Their smiles faded; Bill and Kaley looked at Packer helplessly, and he said, "We were talking about a story that we all knew from when we were younger. From before we came here."

"Oh," Nara said blankly. Packer winced; how goddamn fair was it to discuss this kind of stuff in front of her? To make her feel even more out of place? When he'd first been out on Cape Cod, he understood that he was outsider, so stuff like this never bothered him. And maybe Nara got it, too, but it still didn't excuse them.

Perhaps sensing this, Bill said, "Nara, Kaley said that you have a brother, yes?"

She nodded. "His name is Duniik."

"Is he married?" Bill asked.

"No," Nara replied. "He likes many girls. He should choose his wife, but he says that he cannot choose. But he is old now," she added after a moment. "He should start his family."

"Hmmm," Bill said. "How old is he?"

"About eighteen or nineteen," Packer said. "He's one year younger than you, right, Nara?"

"Yes," Nara said. "I came in the summer, and he came the next summer."

"Tell you what," Packer interjected. "Let's play a game." He went over to Nara's side and draped his arm around her. "You ask something about Nara and our tribe, and then Nara will ask something about here." He looked at his wife. "Good?"

She smiled at him. "Yes, good." She looked around the kitchen, thinking for a moment. "How do you make the...windows?"

Bill, were he drinking anything and facing the right way at that moment, probably would have done a spit-take large enough to put out the fire in the brick oven. Instead, he simply sputtered for a moment, while Kaley giggled at him. Packer grinned; finally, Bill managed, "You mean how we make them clear? How we can see through them?"

"No," Nara said. "What are they?"

"Oh!" Bill looked relieved. "They are glass. And we make glass from sand."

Nara swiveled her head and looked at Packer. "Is he joking?" she asked in her native speech.

Packer chuckled. "No," he replied in English. "It's the truth. Sand and fire. Lots of fire."

"That's right," Bill said.

"Sand and fire," Nara repeated. She smoothed her hair. "I want to see that."

"Well, ah, I think there are some people out in Madaket trying a glassmaking operation," Bill said. "We'll go see what the process is."

"Okay," Packer said, "now it's your turn. Ask anything you'd like to know."

Bill thought about it for a moment, then said, "How hard is it out there? I mean, day to day stuff? How hard is it to live?"

Packer and Nara looked at each other. "Well," Packer began, "it's not too bad in the summer. There's a lot of food if you know what to look for. Nara showed me all sorts of plants to eat."

"Yes," Nara added. "He did not know. At first, I did not understand why. I...thought he was stupid."

Kaley, who'd been minding the eggs, snorted a laugh. Is she this much of a ball-buster with Bill? Packer thought. He probably enjoys it. Hell, in another life...

"But in the summer is easier. It is warm and there is much food," Nara went on. "In the winter it is...difficult. Most winters I remember being afraid. Afraid there was no more food. Sometimes people die in the winter because there is nothing to eat." She was lost in thought for a moment. "Is it like that here? Do people...starve?" She looked at Packer for confirmation that she had the word right, and he nodded.

"No," Kaley said. "We have enough food for everyone. Fish, plants, deer, rabbit, and so on." She looked at Nara. "You won't be hungry this winter." Nara smiled. "Speaking of!" Kaley went on. "Bill, get me some bread. Let's have some egg sandwiches."

So, they ate and enjoyed their fried egg sandwiches. There was even sea salt for seasoning, which Packer had sorely missed out on Cape Cod. The bread was some kind of thick-crusted artisan-style, made with wheat from the harvest. They continued their game through supper, and when it was done, Bill stood.

"We almost forgot," Bill said. "Kaley, you need your vitamin." He went off into the kitchen.

Kaley turned to Packer. "Us preggos need to take a multivitamin," she explained. "Doctor's orders. In theory, if you eat the allocations and supplement them with whatever you have out of your garden, you'll enjoy a well-balanced diet. But Yasmine doesn't want to take any risks, so..."

Bill returned with something grasped in his fist, as well as a glass of water. "Here you are," he dropped the pill into her waiting palm. "I brought one for you too, Nara. If you want it."

Nara eyed the pill with uncertainty. "What is it?"

"It's called a vitamin," Bill explained. "It contains things that you body needs to be healthy."

"But I am healthy," Nara said. "The doctor said I am healthy."

"I'm sure," Bill said. "But this helps the baby. The baby needs more, so it may take it from you. This way, there is enough for you and for the baby."

Nara reached out and plucked it. "And I eat this?"

"No, don't chew it," Kaley said. "Just put it in your mouth and swallow."

"And what?" Nara asked. Kaley looked to Packer, who'd been observing quietly.

Quickly and without conscious thought, Packer translated. "You need to swallow it." He then cringed, and as he expected, Nara burst into hysterical laughter.

Bill and Kaley watched this with matching unsure smiles. "What's the joke?" Bill asked.

It's a damn good thing there's not more light in this room, because I'm blushing like a whore in church, Packer mused. He clarified, over Nara's giggles, "There's a rather interesting distinction in my tribe's native speech. Basically, there is no such thing as a double entendre. So, to describe swallowing food or a drink of water...or a vitamin, is one verb. And I don't know it. So, I used the other verb for swallow, which I do know. Which describes swallowing, well..."

Now Kaley and Bill had joined Nara in her laughter. "Yeah, yeah," Packer grumbled. "If you think that's bad, let me tell you what you've been saying every time you've nodded your head more than once..."

Day 362, 2:30 AM, Nantucket

Packer awoke because Nara had left the bed. He presumed that she had to use the bathroom, but groggily, he spotted her at the window, her outline visible because of the starlight. She stood, nearly hunched over, motionless. He almost rolled over and went back to sleep, but two things stopped him; one was the dog barking outside. It was such a common and accepted noise to him that he automatically tuned it out. The second was Nara's nearly silent, but unmistakably frightened whimpering.

Packer and Nara's bedroom was, like Bill and Kaley's, on the second floor. It looked like it had been hastily furnished--in that a queen-size mattress had been dumped onto the floor. Kaley had promised to requisition more furniture from the warehouses in the morning, and only when Packer and Nara both assured her than they would be fine did she leave them be.

Then, the sex had begun.

Not between Packer and Nara, of course; they had been busy unpacking their blankets and furs when they'd started hearing distinctly feminine moans through the adjoining wall. Given that the walls were lathe and plaster and not hollow by any stretch, Packer had been impressed with the racket that Kaley could make. Or, alternately, with how high Bill's vocal range was. Cementing his position as alpha male? Packer couldn't help but wonder.

Of course, this was nothing new to either of them. Back on Cape Cod, there was no such thing as soundproofing, and wandering around the village at night, you were nearly guaranteed to hear someone getting it on. Sometimes you practically tripped over a couple if you were out in the fields or down by the beach, and there had been at least a few instances where someone else had interrupted Nara and him. Still, on Nantucket, it was...weird. At least to Packer. Nara couldn't have cared less, except for the comment: "If she screams like that too much, someone will think she is being hurt."

At any rate, sometime after the carnal encounter next door had ended, they were finally ready for sleep. The mattress was nice and clean, and even without a box spring, quite comfortable. Nara had fallen asleep almost instantly, but Packer, as was his wont, had lain awake. It was, in part, because he liked to; he liked hearing Nara breathe, or snore, or mutter words as she dreamt. He also did his best thinking in the minutes leading up to sleep. Sometimes, he'd get going so well that he'd wind up lying awake for hours, trying to dissect a problem or anticipate what would transpire tomorrow.

And his problem had been: Will the Council trust me? He knew he had the backing of at least seven, maybe ten Councilors. Would he get six more from them remaining twenty-one? Would Simon and Gail be enough to sway the others? Would they all work together? He'd be fucked if he knew.

Eventually, he'd drifted off to sleep, which had been deep and dreamless. The old house was already settled, so there was no creaking or groaning of wood to bother them. It had, instead, been perfectly silent...once Kaley and Bill finished up, of course.

But presently, Packer was engulfed by worry. "Nara," he whispered in their shared creole, "what's wrong?"

"I heard the dog and I got up," she whispered back. "And I saw people."

Packer shot to his feet and went over to the window. "Where?"

"Far away, but coming closer. Slowly." Like Packer, she was naked, but had wrapped herself in a blanket. A finger poked out to point, and Packer followed it. "See? I'm scared. They are as dark as night."

Packer's heart jackhammered. He saw them in the starlight. Three guys, dressed darkly, picking their way across the yards towards the house. There was no detail to discern, other than the fact that they were hunched over and moving with great deliberation that belied a deadly caution. For a frantic instant, Packer's brain overlaid wild images on them, suggesting flopping, inhuman movements--like creatures out of an H.P. Lovecraft story.

But he shook that away violently. They were simply men, like him...and that, somehow, was worse.

"Get dressed," Packer whispered sharply. He turned and walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway. It offered three other doors: one bathroom, an as-yet-unused bedroom(which would be filled in the next few weeks, Kaley had said, by another couple), and Kaley and Bill's room. He paused for a moment; should he knock sharply? How much sound would be transmitted outside the building? Would it tip off whoever was coming that their element of surprise was blown?

He decided to chance it. He banged three times on the closed door with his fist. That'd wake them up. He then stole down the stairs, as he wanted very much to grab his spear and get a good look at the street outside. If he could just discreetly alert the Watchmen...

What he saw when he glanced out the windows alongside the front door was more horrifying than anything else. There was a hat in the road. A hat that hadn't been there before. A policeman's cap, distinct in shape, metal accents reflecting starlight back to Packer's eyes. That meant two things: the Watchmen were either dead or severely hurt, and whoever was coming had considered just about every avenue of escape.

There was thumping and creaking of floorboards upstairs; Bill and Kaley were up. Quickly, Packer stole to the back of the house, where the kitchen offered a view out onto the backyard. There, just barely visible in the starlight, he saw the first of the three figures hop over a fence that was two houses distant. Frantically now, he looked around for something--anything.

"Packer!" someone whispered harshly. "Get your ass up here!"

He whirled and snatched the coffee can of used cooking oil. He then bounded back to the foyer, got his spear, and started up the steps. The landing at the top was spacious, with railings around the two interior sides. He saw Bill, Kaley, and Nara all leaning over to get a glimpse of him; he hoisted the butt end of his spear up and Bill grabbed it. With both hands, he began drizzling the cooking oil over the hardwood stairs, starting with the fifth step. He worked more quickly than he thought possible, given the circumstances, and in less than a minute, the upper eleven stairs were more slippery than goose shit.

At the top of the stairs, Packer stood up. A single candle cast them in a dim light. Nara looked at him, worried but not panicking. Bill and Kaley both looked at his crotch. It was only then that he realized that he'd been ass naked and hanging hog the entire time. Still, now was not the time for modesty.

Bill only looked for a moment, then he met Packer's eyes with his own. "How many?"

"More than three," Packer said. "They took out the Watchmen. I don't suppose you have a radio or anything, do you?"

"Nope," Bill said. "We'll get one when Kaley enters her seventh month." As if that information mattered right now.

"Fire ladder?" Packer asked. No, that's no good. They probably have the place surrounded. Anyway, Bill shook his head.

"Fuck," Packer said. He was silent for a moment; all they could hear was their breathing and the dog barking somewhere outside. "Alright," Packer said. "You guys, up in the attic."

"What?" Kaley whispered loudly, her eyes finally unlatching themselves from his groin. "No, absolutely not!"

Packer looked to Bill. "It's me they want. And I don't know what for. Get your asses out of the way. Keep Nara safe."

Bill's jaw muscles twitched for a moment. Packer added, "The most important thing is that she's safe. Capisce?"

Silently, Bill took a few steps over to the attic trapdoor. He reached up and pulled it down, unfolding the retractable ladder. Kaley watch him do this with a look that was part anger, part fear, and went over to, presumably, argue with him.

Packer turned to Nara. "You must hide," he said in creole. "They are coming for me."

He expected her to cry, or perhaps insist on staying with him, but she instead nodded grimly. "You protect me. I will protect our daughter." She showed him his knife.

"Good," he said. Back over his shoulder, Bill was instructing Kaley in low tones. Packer only picked up a few words, like 'Point Breeze.' "You may have to hide until morning. Be silent. When morning comes, if I am not here, you three will go to to a safe place, where all the women are. If anyone tries to stop you, run. If you cannot outrun them, pretend you do not understand them. When they are close enough..."

Nara's expression hardened, and she drew a finger across her inner thigh; for a peaceful tribe, they sure knew how to efficiently wound and kill. "Bill is a good man. He will protect you. The other women will protect you."

"Packer!" Bill whispered. "Let's go!"

Packer gave his wife a quick, but forceful kiss. She responded instantly; he almost didn't break it off. But he had to, and he led her up to the attic stairs.

There was a candle glow up there; Kaley's face, red-eyed and tear-streaked, appeared in the gloom. "Come up, Nara," she half-whispered, half-sobbed. "It is safe."

She looked back at Packer once, then clambered up. As soon as she cleared it, Bill folded up the stairs and sent the trapdoor up. "Wait a godda--" was all Packer was able to get out before it closed.

Fucking IDIOT! Packer wanted to scream. You want to sign your goddamn death warrant? Instead, he glared at Bill in the candlelight. Bill regarded him calmly.

"I'm not leaving a man to fight who the fuck knows how many armed enemies alone. Not in my house. Those fuckers want you, they're coming through me."

And despite everything, Packer smiled. But it was only there a second before reality came crashing down on him again. You won't win. If you're lucky, Bill won't end up dead. And fuck, Kaley's carrying his baby! Still, it's his decision... "Alright," Packer said, "break out the guns."

Bill smirked. "I'll make you a deal. I'll get what weapons we have, and you put on some fucking pants."

Thirty seconds later, Packer was clothed and Bill was armed. "No guns, of course," Bill said. "Here."

He handed Packer a rather nice recurve bow. Packer twanged the string; good and taut. "Kaley made it for me at one of her classes. It's nasty. I only shot it a few times, but it'll make someone think twice about coming up the stairs. I'm sure you're a better shot that me."

That was probably true. Packer accepted a quiver of arrows, which he hung over his shoulder. "What about you?"

Bill held up a slingshot. Packer wanted to throttle him, and some of that anger must have showed up on his face, because Bill said, "Not lethal to anything larger than a raccoon, but it will break bones."

A bow and a slingshot against guns, Packer thought. Un-fucking-real. "This is so fucked," he muttered.

"Fucked or not, they ain't taking you," Bill growled. "And they're not hurting our women." Packer nodded. Bill was right. No time for a pity party.

They were silent, listening. There was a faint scrape towards the front of the house--a boot on the stoop, maybe. The front doorknob rattled ever so gently. Then, at once, there was a sharp shatter of glass, and the quick clicking of bolts and latches being clumsily drawn. Bill blew out the candle, and they were plunged into darkness.

The front door creaked as it opened. They were inside the house.

[Kartr_Kana]

If the Watchmen guarding the house are dead then the guys who killed them are going join them as soon as I get my hands on 'em. If the Watchmen guarding the house are in on the plot then they'll wish they were dead.

Great chapter can't wait for the next one.

Edit: never mind I just saw the time-stamp. Just out of curiosity how long are Watchman shifts? Four or Six hours? Eight hours on post is feasible, but it's going to wear your guys out a lot faster.

[Formless]

How sure is it that they have guns? I'm just wondering...

Damn shame Packer didn't have tar instead of oil.

[Shermpotter]

Formless, that's a good question on the guns. I know the Council cut out the Mess/Watch, but I cannot picture them willingly turning over their guns under ANY circumstances. I would tell the Council good luck and fuck yourself, try to do something about it.

Oh, more??? Quickly??? Pretty please?!

[Simon_Jester]

Which "they?" The Watch still possesses guns, but not every Watchman is armed at all times.

[Shermpotter]

I assume, Simon, that the 'they" being referred to is those who are sneaking up to the house. Packer refers to he and Bill using their stone age weapons against gun armed men...

I was also under the impression the Watch WAS armed at all times. How else otherwise could they insure order? Everyone would be equal with other forms of weapons, or even more deadly than they...

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

I assume, Simon, that the 'they" being referred to is those who are sneaking up to the house. Packer refers to he and Bill using their stone age weapons against gun armed men...

I was also under the impression the Watch WAS armed at all times. How else otherwise could they insure order? Everyone would be equal with other forms of weapons, or even more deadly than they...

Bill is no longer a member of the Watch. This Nantucket is governed by people who think the US Second Amendment is a stupid idea, especially when applied to a population comprised mainly of surly male teenagers. The rest of the population makes do with muscle-powered weapons.

And just because someone is armed does not mean that they're always in the proper mindset. The men keeping an eye on Packer have been at the job for hours. It's half-past two in the morning, and they're in the secure "Couples' District." So these factors could lead to them slipping out of "Condition Yellow" or even "Condition Green." Especially if, for some reason (ahem,) the men chosen for guard duty aren't quite the Watch's cream-of-the-crop.

Fact of the matter is that these men have given indications of having an awareness level closer to Condition White (i.e. oblivious,) than is merited. Especially when they're quick to dismiss the barking dogs, simply because they've decided that the dogs will bark whenever the people make any more fuss than "an owl's fart."

Disregarding their level of readiness, these Watchmen are looking for two threats: A) Big crowds of disruptive Packerites or anti-Packerites. B) Packer sneaking out of the house to engage in nefarious revolutionary business. The first threat is unlikely at 2:30 AM, and the latter dictates that more of their attention be focused on the house Packer is staying at.

End result: Sure, these Watchmen were armed, but it just wasn't really a factor.

How sure is it that they have guns? I'm just wondering...

From the POV of Packer and Bill, it's likely safe to assume that someone coming in the dead of night to do nefarious things is probably doing so after having made the situation as absolutely unfair as possible.

If I were in his shoes, I'd be assuming the home invaders were armed simply because if I were to attempt such a thing, I'd make damned sure I was armed first.

[Simon_Jester]

Especially if going after someone who has just gone through six months of intense crossbow marksmanship training, and who has been known to go bear hunting armed only with a spear. If I were trying to go after Packer with hostile intent, I know I'd want to bring along a gun.

[Shermpotter]

I was not directly speaking about Bill, but the Watch in general. I find the whole second amendment idea rather lame, as the reason why the amendment was created seems to fit this situation to a 'T' as unarmed sheeple cannot resist their 'betters.' No wonder the powers that be cannot stand the second amendment... I definitely agree about the watchfulness or lack thereof on the two(?) Watch guardsmen.

How many people really know the whole bear hunting with a spear thing about Packer by now? Perhaps these guys don't. They may assume that they will catch them unawares.

[Simon_Jester]

I was not directly speaking about Bill, but the Watch in general. I find the whole second amendment idea rather lame, as the reason why the amendment was created seems to fit this situation to a 'T' as unarmed sheeple cannot resist their 'betters.' No wonder the powers that be cannot stand the second amendment... I definitely agree about the watchfulness or lack thereof on the two(?) Watch guardsmen.

Hmm. Interesting. I'm going to steal that quote and run away with it for future use, if you don't mind.

How many people really know the whole bear hunting with a spear thing about Packer by now? Perhaps these guys don't. They may assume that they will catch them unawares.

They may also know Murphy's Law.

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

I was not directly speaking about Bill, but the Watch in general. I find the whole second amendment idea rather lame, as the reason why the amendment was created seems to fit this situation to a 'T' as unarmed sheeple cannot resist their 'betters.' No wonder the powers that be cannot stand the second amendment...

The majority of the board's population has a distinctly progressive/'liberal' bent and has the view that unfettered (relative to Canada and most European nations) civilian access to firearms is one of the causative factors for the United States having among the highest levels of violent crime of any First World country. Some of us may disagree, but the story is about SD.net in Nantucket, not AR15.com in Nantucket.

How many people really know the whole bear hunting with a spear thing about Packer by now? Perhaps these guys don't. They may assume that they will catch them unawares.

Everyone on the Watch and the Council knows, as Packer went out of his way to threaten Watchmen at the hospital; and the after-action report was available for the Shark to throw in the face of Packer's supporters on the Council. Since these guys were dispatched by certain Council members, its fairly safe to assume that they've been briefed on how dangerous Packer could be.

[PeZook]

You people are missing the obvious: the attackers took out the Watchmen!

Therefore, they will have at least two guns with them even if they brought nothing more than clubs and stones initially.

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

Editor's note: This takes place on day 362, post-arrival . . .

Midnight Ride
The torch of the Vineyard watchtower blazed out into the starlit night, casting its wan glow on the waters of the harbor. We were leaving that point of flickering light further, and further behind, our motorboat driving deeper into the darkness.

Before long, it was just the inky black sea, the blazing starlight, and the dim red flashlights of the boat's navigator looking over the map and at his compass and shouting directions at the man at the wheel. It was crowded with me, the Old Man, and one of the Watchmen who'd come with him. We were taking a risk, riding out at night in a motorboat; yet it was one the Old Man was determined to take.

We'd lost another day trapped on the Vineyard, with the storm passing through. There was a tower built for a radio, so Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard could keep in touch through the second winter; but the radio itself was scheduled to arrive next week. We had no idea what was going on, back at Nantucket. No idea what Packer's return had done. No idea if Packer himself was even still alive. We wouldn't know anything until we were halfway into our trip and we could raise Madaket on the boat's radio.

I made sure my hat was firmly on my head, and then my hand dropped to my sixgun in its holster. Next to my boot was a hard wooden case, and inside that was Red Ryder. The Old Man had asked me to bring it with us . . . after this whole Packer business had been dealt with, we were going to hold a demonstration for the rest of the Watch. The day was coming when we'd run out of modern ammunition and smokeless powder; the only firearms we'd have left would be those that would work reliably with black powder. If our grandchildren were still using firearms, they'd be shooting flintlocks. The air-gun was a little insurance against that future.

I'll tell you something. I didn't really want to be the one to give the demonstration. I wasn't terribly comfortable about the idea of returning to Nantucket. Well, sure, I was up for pulling Packer's bacon out of the fire . . . just not going back before the Watch. Alas, O Malevolent Powers; you just had to take notice of me, didn't you?

Thirty hours before . . .
"You know," Kevin said, leaning closer to the Old Man, "I even went to go see him."

Oh dear . . . Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jeff just manage to stop himself at the doorway and back out. Quickly. How he did it without making a noise, or spilling any of his freshly brewed pot of pine-needle tea, I'll never know.

"Interesting," the Old Man finally replied. An eyebrow quirked upward. "I think I want to hear about this," he said.

Are you sure about that? I glanced at Kevin . . . don't you throw us under the bus . . . please? He leaned back, for a second, our eyes met and he smirked.

He folded his arms, fixing the Old Man in his gaze. "That's right, Miles and I went out to visit him. To plan his return. We were gone almost three days, and no one noticed!" Kevin laughed harshly, almost mockingly. "Fuck, I even got laid up there! By a girl!"

Fuuuuck! Bump-bump. That, folks, is the sound a constable makes when he's run over by a bus.

Chuckling.

Wait, what?

The Old Man chuckled. "Must've been nice, Kevin," he said. "To be sent out here . . . only to be able to disappear for days at a time and chase skirt while doing it. Sounds like I need to come out here more often."

"There's a lot of single women out there," Kevin added, twisting the knife.

The Old Man grinned. "Is that so?"

"Oh yeah," Kevin replied, with a slow, satisfied nod. Yeah, sure. Laugh it up. This is doing wonders for my blood pressure.

"I see," the Old Man said, nodding. "Excuse me, for a moment," he added.

His head swung around towards me, his glare piercing, his tone icy. "Constable! A man goes missing for three days and you're unaware? Or did you neglect to report the incident?"

I wanted to look around, find someone else to foist this steaming heap off on. Yet, I already knew such a search would be futile.

"I . . . uhh . . . " was suckered. Really. My memory here was crystal clear, when he'd approached us. Said he wanted to go on an expedition around the Vineyard. To make sure no useful plants, or good farmland had been left out in the initial surveys of the place. It seemed like such a reasonable idea at the time. "We thought he was . . . surveying the island . . . for plants . . . horticultural things."

"Without supervision?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I'm sure it did," the Old Man replied, entirely deadpan.

"I, uh, suppose you'll be wanting to address the Constabulary in the morning, sir?"

The Old Man nodded once. "Very much so," he replied. "First thing, even."

"Ah," I said, my throat dry. "Yes sir. I'll go make that happen."

"You do that," the Old Man replied. "Be sure to come back when you are done . . . you and I need to have a word."

Now . . .
I felt the boat swing around, as we cleared Cape Poge, and started toward Nantucket. I glanced at the Old Man, and saw him looking out ahead, into the darkness. The other Watchmen looked grim. I'll admit, I wasn't very happy myself.

That following morning had been . . . interesting. The Old Man snapped at us, in full hardass mode, to be sure. But something seemed off. The rebuke hadn't been as sharp as some others I remember. Could've been because of the marathon talk he and Kevin Dumfries had done, but I wasn't so sure.

There were other things, too. Like his seeming lack of shock at the news that Packer was still alive. Or, the way he handled the news that Dumfries had gotten off the Vineyard . . . I owe you for that, by the way, Kevin. If I ever get an audience with Haruhi and Q, the first thing I'm gonna ask for is that you be sent back in time to the Vineyard initiation. More latrine cleaning for you. Oh yes . . .

I shook it off. No point wishing for the impossible. And yet, I was faced with something seemingly impossible. If there was something I'd learned in the year I'd been here; it was there was no point in not asking questions.

"Sir," I yelled over the noise of the boat's engine.

The Old Man turned to look at me.

"What is it?" He replied, his voice just as loud.

"How long did you know?"

"About what?"

"Packer!"

I couldn't really discern his expression in that faint starlight. I couldn't tell you what he thought of my question. But, he answered, all the same.

"I've always known!"

Wait, what?

"What!"

"I've! Always! Known!" The Old Man repeated.

Gods, I'm sure glad I was strapped in. Otherwise I'd be taking a . . . bracing dip right about now.

"How?" It was the only question I could ask.

"Shadows!"

Shadow? The Watch had someone shadowing Packer? Couldn't be . . . or maybe it could. Yeah, the Council had sent him off to die, but they'd gone all out, in outfitting him for the trip. He was about as lavishly equipped as Nantucket could manage at the time. Could it have been that they knew it was overkill, and planned to get all that stuff back after he'd gotten himself killed?

But why go through all the trouble, then? If they really wanted to kill him, they could've chucked him off that boat with no more than the clothes on his back. Unless that wasn't really the point.

Huh.

"One shadow?"

"Shadows," the Old Man repeated. "And informants!"

Oh . . . shadows! Y'know, come to think of it, when the Watch boatmen came to the Vineyard, a couple had hinted that they'd ran some folks to the mainland. I'd heard Nantucket was sending out feelers and reconnoitering the mainland, but I'd never thought to connect it to Packer.

"Informants?"

"Yes," the Old Man replied. "Other natives!"

I blinked, as I took that in. I'd learned in grade school history that early European colonists had traded petty baubles for land. Was Nantucket gonna start doing the same? I shivered . . . just what kind of game are you playing here, O Malevolent Powers? Secret missions to the mainland, Byzantine maneuvering on the Council, Al Packer and whatever the hell he represented?

A thought . . . If the Old Man knew, why was he content to let everyone believe Packer was dead? Why didn't he say anything? Especially with all the shit Packer had succeeded in stirring up . . .

One-hundred and seventy-six days before . . .
Nearly every day since I'd been told to ferret out the second conspiracy, I've been making it a point to sweep every mess hall I could. My fellow Watchmen initially gave me some strange looks while I was pushing that dust mop. That is, until the rumor mill had caught wind that I'd gone with Bill to see the Old Man. Then those looks changed to ones of pity, or derision. Boy, he must've gotten it good, their eyes seemed to say.

Can't say I mind overmuch. I haven't told a soul about my new assignment. Not sure if that was the right thing to do, but I figured I didn't want to spook whoever had put that pamphlet in the mess hall. More points of data, and all that. Found a few more copies of that 'Common Sense' pamphlet here and there. That, in and of itself, wasn't a good sign. Made me start to wonder about my fellows in the Watch.

But, let me tell you, the mood was somber when everyone found out that Packer had met his doom on Cape Cod. Most folks seemed willing to accept it right off. But, there were a couple who refused to admit he was dead, you know?

I stop pushing that broom for a second. There's a couple of papers on one of the tables. A few are leftover napkins, but one . . . goddamn it, don't tell me . . .

I snatch it off the table, and it's another goddamned pamphlet! Brand new too! I start looking it over, and my frown only deepens . . .

Freedom!

In Memory of Al Packer

"FREEDOM" was his cry.

Tirelessly, he rode. From meeting to meeting. Across all of Nantucket. Shining the light of HOPE and LIBERTY in the face of those CORRUPT with POWER.

"Seize LIBERTY from the jaws of CORRUPTION," he shouted, as he raised his work-hammer into the air. "Power to the PEOPLE!"

His brave men forged a CHARTER to lead us forward, OUT of DESPOTISM. But the DESPOTS, fearing his SELF-EVIDENT TRUTHS, cast him out.

"Power to the People!" Heed his cry. Arm yourselves with these words. They may silence ONE, but they CANNOT silence THREE-THOUSAND.

POWER TO THE PEOPLE!

We who share the spirit of Testing are watching

I have to sit down. I am, literally, too stunned for words. This . . . this was brazen . . . audacious! I bet Packer's bones ain't even been picked clean yet, and someone was already using him to push their agenda . . . whatever the hell it was. If their agenda was trying to kill me before my time, it was working real good.

Why? What's the point? What do they hope to accomplish? Raising Packer's spectre so soon implies an organization with frightening reaction time, yet it implies a certain amateurishness. People are going to see this for the blatant political play that it is.

Or will they? I lean back in that uncomfortable chair. Having witnessed much of the Council meetings, I can tell you they sent Packer off to die. But how many people on Nantucket know that? Or suspect it, even? Can't be that many. Nobody here really wants to believe that the Council would do that to a man. If he did something wrong, he'd go to Muskeget, right? If he did something really wrong, we'd all be out at the airport again watching him swing at the end of a rope . . . right? Certainly, they wouldn't waste all that time and effort training and equipping him to survive a full fortnight on his own if the intent was for him to die.

So maybe they're trying to shake people of their preconceptions. But would it be effective at that, or would it only reinforce those preconceptions with incredulity and no small quantity of fear? I don't know. I really don't know.

I shove the pamphlet into my pocket and rub my temples. If I get a headache now, it's going to be with me for the next few days; and I really don't need that.

"Hey," the quartermaster shouts, "are you going to finish sweeping, or what?"

"Sorry sir, just found some interesting trash on one of the tables."

"Another one of those Common Sense rags?"

"Something like that," I replied with a nod.

The quartermaster snorted. "What do they think they're trying to accomplish? It's like they've forgotten where they are, and who kept 'em alive. Ungrateful kids, if you ask me. Probably wore Che Guevara shirts back in the future."

I grunted noncommittally. As I picked up my broom, I looked him in the eye.

"Some of those quotes come from people in the Watch, you know."

"Tell me about it," the quartermaster growled. "Wonder where we got that kind of attitude from?"

"You have any clue who might've contributed to the pamphlet here?"

The quartermaster spread his hands out and shook his head. "I'm the wrong guy to ask. If I knew, I'd have been sent to Muskeget already for beating the stupid out of 'em. Try talking to the others on KP, I'm sure someone has heard something."

"Who knows," I said, starting to push the broom once more. "Hope we can get on top of this before it runs us over . . . "

Now . . .
"Sir! Why didn't you say anything?" I asked, yelling once more.

"About Packer?"

"Yeah!"

"It was need-to-know," the Old Man replied. He turned to fix me in his stare. "Still is."

I grit my teeth in the darkness. I needed to know! If someone was keeping an eye on him, even if it was infrequent enough to ensure he never picked up on it . . . he could've been picked up and brought back to put all that goddamned nonsense to rest once and for all.

Thoughts like that haunted me on that boat ride. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I didn't want to keep yelling. My hearing was bad enough as it was. It could wait till we made landfall, I thought.

I had another thought, as we bounced over the water on that starlit night. This was a big risk we were taking. Putting our lives into the hands of men who weren't seasoned mariners on a midnight run to possibly save a man who may, or may not need saving. A man who'd touched off the biggest fight Nantucket had ever know, with revolutionaries, counter-revolutionaries, pamphleteers, and the whole nine yards. It was the old board drama writ large. Only instead of egos and e-penis sizes, we were dealing with lives, and we were doing so with the last vestiges of modern technology on the entire planet.

I laughed. I just had to. I laughed at the absurdity of it all. Of spending technological resources to fight over something that wasn't going to amount to a hill of beans in a hundred years.

"What's so funny," the Old Man said.

"This whole goddamn thing, sir," I replied. "You really can't leave the past behind!"

"Bullshit," the Old Man said. "We will do just that tonight."

Will we? Just what are you planning?

The trip descended into relative silence, and I into a fitful snooze. At least, I assume that's what happened . . . I don't remember a whole lot between considering what the Old Man had said, and what the boat's navigator shouted out.

"Beacon ahoy!"

I snapped up to instant alertness, peering out into the darkness ahead of the boat. There, just above the black of the water, was a flashing white light. At last, we'd sighted Nantucket's Great Point lighthouse, visible from sixteen nautical miles out. It was automated, solar-powered, and stripping it would've required a seven mile walk through sand. So it flashed, a lonely guidepost for nautical traffic it would likely never see again. And it'd continue to do so for at least the next couple of years.

The boat changed course as we angled toward that light. As I understood it, we'd still overshoot Nantucket proper if we just aimed at Great Point. However, sighting the lighthouse meant we were in radio range of Fishers Landing. A dim green glow told me that the pilot had turned on the radio.

"Fish-Watch, Fish-Watch, Fish-Watch, this is Dalton's Revenge on channel sixteen, over."

Silence. The pilot repeated the hail. Several times, and then . . .

"Dalton's Revenge, this is Fishers Landing Watch. Switch to channel nine, over."

I found myself breathing a sigh of relief. It meant we hadn't boated off into history. Yet. The pilot twisted the dial.

"Fish-Watch, this is Dalton's Revenge on channel nine, over?"

"Dalton's Revenge, this is Fishers Landing Watch. We've been waiting to hear from you, over."

"Fish-Watch, sorry for the delay. We left the Vineyard as soon as conditions allowed. Requesting vector, over."

"Dalton's Revenge, we'll get someone up to Big-Eye. Bring your lights up, over."

"Fish-Watch, we copy," the pilot said. "Guys, I'm gonna blow your night vision," he shouted. I had just enough time to shield my eyes as he turned on every light on the boat. We waited, and I knew that, on-shore, there was a Watchman with a huge pair of binoculars looking for us. Before long, Fishers Landing Watch came back on the radio, asking the pilot to confirm his speed and heading. A minute after that, they came back and gave the pilot instructions. Just after that, we were shrouded in darkness again, save for one flashing red light atop a short mast.

"Dalton's Revenge, the Brant Point light, and harbor range lights are up and running. You should sight it in another hour, over."

"Fish-Watch, we copy. Still waiting on the Eagle, are we? Over."

"Dalton's Revenge, no joy yet, but the lights are on all the same. Do you need anything else? Over."

The pilot glanced back at the Old Man, who quickly shook his head.

"Fish-Watch, just keep us from sailing off to Newfoundland, over."

There was a chuckle on the other end. "Dalton's Revenge, we'll try our best, over."

We motored on, periodically illuminated by the beacon above our heads. The radio crackled to life a few more times as the Watch updated our course, and then we were out of radio range once more. We heard little news about Packer in that time. The west end of the island was where the stand-offish types wound up. Madaket and Nantucket were increasingly distinct communities, united (nominally) by the Council.

I checked my gun, adjusted my coat and hat, and settled in for another long wait. To our relief, the trip was uneventful. The boys guiding the boat spotted the range lights and guided us through the narrow straits into Nantucket Harbor. At this hour, Nantucket was a no more than a vast, irregular swath of black cut out of the bottom of a sky brilliantly lit by madly-dancing stars.

The only lights on the waterfront could only be seen by rounding Brant Point, and they were our destination; the old Coast Guard station, now the second main Watch station. As the boat carefully maneuvered up to the pier, I could see a handful of men running out towards us. They made quick work of tying down the boat, and soon, I was stepping onto the pier, gun-case in tow.

In the dim lantern-light, I saw the Old Man huddled with two of the men who'd come down to the pier. As I hurried over, I could hear terse, heated words being exchanged between them.

"Who's supposed to be watching Packer, again?"

"A patrol from the Couples' District, sir," one of the Watchmen replied. I eyed him. He seemed to be apologetic.

"Those weren't the standing orders," the Old Man replied. "Who the hell authorized the change? Was it Stark?"

Standing orders? You had standing orders in case Packer ever came back?

"I . . . I don't know, sir," the Watchman replied. "Orders came right from Dispatch: 'No special treatment for Mister Packer. Just keep a patrol on where he's staying to make sure he doesn't cause trouble.'"

The Old Man leaned closer to the Watchman. "And, on whose authority was Packer even allowed to leave the hospital in the first place?"

"Council's authority, sir," the Watchman said, seemingly relieved at having a question at his pay grade.

The Old Man shook his head. "It's even worse than I thought," he said. He stared out at the Brant Point lighthouse for a moment. "Do you know who was working central dispatch when Packer was let go?"

The Watchman gave a name I didn't quite catch. I looked at the Old Man, and his expression was like that of a man who'd quite possibly just shit a cactus.

"How many men can you call back right now, if you had to?" He finally asked. I looked at him, wondering what was on his mind.

"There were some spontaneous gatherings when Packer turned up, but at this hour, I don't think anybody is awake to demonstrate. If I put the call out now, I could have everyone back inside an hour."

"Do it," the Old Man replied. "When they get here, send them all to where Packer is staying. Hopefully, we'll be waiting for them. When you put the call out, keep it as brief as possible. Don't tell them that I've ordered this until your men are back at the station."

"Sir," the Watchman said, "Pardon my French, but what the fuck is going on?"

"I can't tell you right now," the Old Man replied, wheeling back on the Watchman. "Just get me those men!"

The Watchman looked stricken. "Uh . . . yes sir," his shoulders slumped. "We'll get it done."

"Thank you," the Old Man said. "Tomorrow, you'll understand just how important this is."

The Watchman nodded jerkily. "You need anything else?"

"Flashlights and water for my men," the Old Man replied. He glanced at me. "That includes the Constable here."

"Huh," the Watchman said. Suddenly, his eyes went wide, as if he'd finally realized I was standing there. "You're from Martha's Vineyard," he managed.

"These days, yes," I replied.

"Right," the Watchman said, turning away. "Right. I'll get that to you right away." He immediately began shouting at the men who'd come out with him, chasing them back toward the Coast Guard station.

"Sir, would you care to fill me in on what the hell is going on," I said, looking the Old Man square in the eye.

"There are people on this island determined to play with fire," the Old Man replied. "And it would seem they have a head start."

"I get it," I said, after a moment. "No, wait, I don't get it at all!"

The Old Man took a deep breath. "If my orders had been followed, Packer should be at the hospital under double-guard. He's not. The Council let him go, and someone countermanded my orders and insisted that he get no special treatment. Do you get it now?"

I thought, and I thought quickly. Didn't the Old Man say that Packer was safe, only if he stayed at the hospital? And that if he got out . . .

"The Council's springin' their trap on Packer, aren't they? No, wait, not the whole Council. Just those wantin' to see Packer off."

"That's right," the Old Man replied. "It may be worse than that, though."

"Worse," I parroted as the men re-emerged from the station. They carried canteens and lanterns, and one had what looked like a gun belt.

"Yes," a sharp nod. "I never expected that anyone would try something so audacious. Not so soon. Either Packer's scared them, or they're stronger than I thought." The Old Man took the gun belt and strapped it on.

"And we're going to find out which it is," I said.

"Exactly," the Old Man replied. He looked down. "How much charge is left in that rifle?"

I frowned, and then looked down at the gun-case I was carrying.

"Maybe twenty more," I replied.

"I see," the Old Man replied. His flashlight came on, and I could see his thoughtful expression in the reflected light. "We'll take it with us. It may come in handy," he added, thrusting the other light into my hand. As soon as I took it, he looked up.

"Everyone, gather round," he said. I felt the other Watchmen crowding behind me. "Gentlemen," he said. "We're going to get Packer. If you disagree, speak up now."

Silence. The Old Man looked us over, his gaze transfixing each of us. At length, he nodded.

"Very good. That's the easy part. And now that's over, the hard part begins. And it begins . . . now," he said, turning away from us jogging up the pier. "Follow me. Quickly, to Packer's house!"

[Tiwaz]

Out of curiosity, where would Nantucket obtain sulfur for prolonged black powder manufacturing?

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

Out of curiosity, where would Nantucket obtain sulfur for prolonged black powder manufacturing?

The Thirteen Colonies obtained sulfur chiefly from trade in the Caribbean, where old volcanic processes brought it to the surface. Going to the Caribbean during the 1200 BCE time-frame is a bit hazardous from late spring through late fall, owing to the hyperactive hurricane seasons of the era; though that'd still be quicker and safer than obtaining sulfur from the interior of the continent. The D.C. area and parts of the Virginia shore were evidently rich in iron pyrite, from which sulfur can be extracted. You could extract it from the sulfur-rich Appalachian coals in the region (though this is a bit involved.) It also occurs as a byproduct of mining lead from galena (lead sulfates,) of which, the continental United States is rich in the stuff (and if you were producing sulfur for gunpowder, you're going to also need lead to shoot with the gunpowder.)

Note that most of the above are processes requiring some sort of industry.

[Tiwaz]

Out of curiosity, where would Nantucket obtain sulfur for prolonged black powder manufacturing?

The Thirteen Colonies obtained sulfur chiefly from trade in the Caribbean, where old volcanic processes brought it to the surface. Going to the Caribbean during the 1200 BCE time-frame is a bit hazardous from late spring through late fall, owing to the hyperactive hurricane seasons of the era; though that'd still be quicker and safer than obtaining sulfur from the interior of the continent. The D.C. area and parts of the Virginia shore were evidently rich in iron pyrite, from which sulfur can be extracted. You could extract it from the sulfur-rich Appalachian coals in the region (though this is a bit involved.) It also occurs as a byproduct of mining lead from galena (lead sulfates,) of which, the continental United States is rich in the stuff (and if you were producing sulfur for gunpowder, you're going to also need lead to shoot with the gunpowder.)

Note that most of the above are processes requiring some sort of industry.

Rather much industry which is why I asked about it, since all currently used industrial methods are out of question. Thus leaving only natural deposits as viable. Alternative of course would be Iceland but it would be far longer journey but could be done during summer period when Caribbean is too dangerous.

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

Out of curiosity, where would Nantucket obtain sulfur for prolonged black powder manufacturing?

The Thirteen Colonies obtained sulfur chiefly from trade in the Caribbean, where old volcanic processes brought it to the surface. Going to the Caribbean during the 1200 BCE time-frame is a bit hazardous from late spring through late fall, owing to the hyperactive hurricane seasons of the era; though that'd still be quicker and safer than obtaining sulfur from the interior of the continent. The D.C. area and parts of the Virginia shore were evidently rich in iron pyrite, from which sulfur can be extracted. You could extract it from the sulfur-rich Appalachian coals in the region (though this is a bit involved.) It also occurs as a byproduct of mining lead from galena (lead sulfates,) of which, the continental United States is rich in the stuff (and if you were producing sulfur for gunpowder, you're going to also need lead to shoot with the gunpowder.)

Note that most of the above are processes requiring some sort of industry.

Rather much industry which is why I asked about it, since all currently used industrial methods are out of question. Thus leaving only natural deposits as viable. Alternative of course would be Iceland but it would be far longer journey but could be done during summer period when Caribbean is too dangerous.

Yes, Nantucket's only method of getting sulfur for the next century or two would likely be scraping it off the walls of volcanic vents. However, the Caribbean islands have been inhabited to various degrees for about three-thousand years before our arrival in Nantucket. We would have to set up trading missions to essentially pay the locals to go and scrape sulfur off the walls for us, if not set up permanent colonies (possibly something to do while we can still construct reinforced concrete structures.)

[Tiwaz]

Yes, Nantucket's only method of getting sulfur for the next century or two would likely be scraping it off the walls of volcanic vents. However, the Caribbean islands have been inhabited to various degrees for about three-thousand years before our arrival in Nantucket. We would have to set up trading missions to essentially pay the locals to go and scrape sulfur off the walls for us, if not set up permanent colonies (possibly something to do while we can still construct reinforced concrete structures.)

Which in turn means Nantucket better start thinking of building ships.
While Eagle could for time being handle trade missions but it leaves all the eggs in one basket.

And proper shipbuilding takes time and skill. Turning some craftsmen into proper shipwrights should be rather high in order of priorities for long term prosperity.

[kh1]

The white sands in new mexico are gypsum.

Gypsum + heat = sulfur dioxide

Sulfur dioxide + methane = elemental sulfur, hydrogen sulfide, and other things

Sulfur dioxide bubbled through an aqeous medium containing hydrogen sulfide = elemental sulfur

The processes have been known since the early 20th century.

white sands is easy to find, follow the Rio Grande to the mountains -- go north till you see the white stuff.

[A-Wing_Slash]

The white sands in new mexico are gypsum.

Gypsum + heat = sulfur dioxide

Sulfur dioxide + methane = elemental sulfur, hydrogen sulfide, and other things

Sulfur dioxide bubbled through an aqeous medium containing hydrogen sulfide = elemental sulfur

The processes have been known since the early 20th century.

white sands is easy to find, follow the Rio Grande to the mountains -- go north till you see the white stuff.

Yeah dude, they aren't getting out to New Mexico for a long, long time.

[kh1]

The white sands in new mexico are gypsum.

Gypsum + heat = sulfur dioxide

Sulfur dioxide + methane = elemental sulfur, hydrogen sulfide, and other things

Sulfur dioxide bubbled through an aqeous medium containing hydrogen sulfide = elemental sulfur

The processes have been known since the early 20th century.

white sands is easy to find, follow the Rio Grande to the mountains -- go north till you see the white stuff.

Yeah dude, they aren't getting out to New Mexico for a long, long time.

Why? they took a trawler across the atlantic. Staying within sight of land, down the atlantic coast, around florida, and along the gulf coast to the Rio Grande then navigating up the Rio would be easier and safer, and you could do it in a sailboat.

OTOH there would be some open seam coal around, gasify that and use the same process.

There would also be sulfur deposits in the hot springs area of West Virginia.

[Formless]

The difference between the Eagle expedition and going to New Mexico is that New Mexico is inland quite a ways. Travel on land is not as easy as travel by boat, especially when there are native groups of unknown friendliness potentially between you and your destination.