SDN In the Sea of Time

[Simon_Jester]

Well, I can't say much due to insider trading regulations, but...

The ending of my scene there is referenced in Alferd's last scene, with the Aussie securing the Council chamber. So this brings the Council's viewpoint on events up to date with the end of Alferd's last piece, giving us a nice clear runup to the climax...

[Kartr_Kana]

Good news I have two lines, bad news my name is misspelled in the second line. Keep the good stuff coming!!

[Simon_Jester]

Good news I have two lines, bad news my name is misspelled in the second line. Keep the good stuff coming!!

Simon has trouble thinking of you as Kartr. Call yourself Kartr around him, and he's going to think of you as "Carter." Your own fault for picking a nickname that sounds like a real name. Though, hmm. I think I need to reverse the misspelled and correctly spelled names to reflect that. Will do.

There. Now your name is misspelled in the first line, where Simon is thinking of you, and spelled correctly in the second, where it is being used to identify you.

Play your cards right, and you might get actual dialogue instead of being a Stoic Minion...

[Kartr_Kana]

I thought I was going to get a line or two of dialog during the house storming the week or two after arrival? As for cards I know spades, runny, blackjack, and a couple others, which should I be playing for dialog?

[Simon_Jester]

I'm afraid the second half of the Day Five segment is stalled; it may appear as bonus material in the future, but I'm badly writer's blocked on it.

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

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

Circle the Wagons

Crash!

The truck came out of nowhere. The Crown Vic's tires screamed as they were shoved off to the side and the steering wheel was ripped from my hands.

"Goddamn it," I swore, grabbing hold of the steering wheel. Behind me, Nara and Kaley screamed, almost as one. The streetlight reared up in the headlights, even as sheet-metal crunched as the truck finished broadsiding us.

Wham!

I was thrown forward against the seat-belt, everything going dark as the air-bag exploded in my face, smashing my glasses and knocking my hat clear off my head.

I groaned, picking myself up off the steering column.

I could hear voices, muted and indistinct.

" . . . able . . . "

What?

"Constable!"

That was the Old Man. Or was it Packer?

Crack!

I sat up with a start, my cheek burning with the not-so-tender touch of the Old Man's knuckles.

"Welcome back, Constable," he said. Amidst the flashing lights, I saw a glint of light at his side. His gun was drawn. "We need to get out of here."

"Right," I replied, shaking off the cobwebs. I looked back, meaning to check on Packer and the women. My eyes didn't get that far, as I noticed dancing spots of light outside the windows.

Flashlights, torches. I could see the faces of men behind those lights. Angry faces. Hateful faces with narrowed eyes. Free hands carried steel tools . . . pitchforks, machetes, axes, and hammers. Some men carried crossbows. Others . . .

Wham!

Lead smashed through sheet-metal. Behind me, someone screamed. I clawed for my Colt as bullets and crossbow bolts started to hit the Crown Vic like rain.

The Old Man made a sound that was half-growl, half-grunt. His lifeless hand dropped in my lap, his pistol clattering to the floor between my legs. I managed to get my sixgun free . . .

Liquid fire splashes through my guts, crushing the air from my lungs.

I gasp . . . no, I try to gasp, the movement sending waves of pain radiating from my gut. I don't even look down as I struggle to bring my gun up, the edges of my vision unraveling into gray.

For an instant, my eyes meet those of a man with a rifle at his shoulder. That rifle's aimed right at me. I ain't going to be fast enough . . .

. . . . .

"Jorgensen," Kaley said. I jerked the steering wheel, and the Crown Vic swerved a bit. I was immediately grateful, as her outburst had yanked me away from the horrific vision I'd just had. I forced myself to breathe. We were in a convoy. If any asshole was going to try trouble like that, they'd have the Watch come down on them full-force.

Wait, Jorgensen?

"Mrs. Jorgensen. I'm taking his name. And I'm going to marry him as soon as possible." Kaley looked at Packer. "Will you perform the ceremony? You're the reason we met in the first place."

Oh gods. My stomach turned at the tone of her voice. She was holding only by the barest of threads. To the thought that somehow it'd be alright and that she and Bill would be able to lead a life together after all of this.

I didn't dare look anywhere but down the godsdamned road stripes. Bill could be in surgery right now. His life hung in the balance, and the scales were weighted against him.

"Yes," Packer finally said. "Of course. As soon as Bill's up for it, consider it done."

"Good," Kaley replied, lapsing back into silence. I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments. I was not going to look at the Old Man. I wasn't going to give the three people behind me any clue just how dire the situation really was.

Grimly, I drove on. The Old Man laid it out for Packer. I watched the road, half-expecting Packer's friends to come screaming out of some side-street. Or worse, the Volunteers. At any moment, I expected that I'd have to fight for my very life.

"Leave them to me," Packer interrupted. "I can handle the Machinists. Horticulturists, too. I'll keep them in line."

You can?

The Old Man frowned. "How?"

"I'll tell them to. We'll...hmm, let's do it like this. I'll issue a statement that we'll print up and sent to the four corners of Nantucket. That'll settle them down."

"Packer, I got news for you: they didn't buy the statement you signed after your trial. Nor did they buy Kevin Dumfries' statement after his arrest," the Old Man said. The tone of his voice making it clear he shared my skepticism.

"Well, of course they didn't," Packer said. "Neither of us wrote those statements. When we were first starting up this shit, we agreed on code words. If we were arrested or otherwise detained, these code words would be used in any statements apparently made by us to indicate our status. That's how the Machinists and Horticulturists knew that my statement wasn't my own. It didn't contain the code word that would let them know that my statement was, in fact, my own words and the truth."

A code? You assholes had a code? What are we getting into, throwing our lot with Packer? That was what the little voice of doubt said. Only, he wasn't so little at that moment.

Then, I took a deep breath. If someone was going to cause trouble, of course they'd have to devise a way to tell their friends whether or not Big Brother had just made them his bitch. No reason to panic, right?

"God fucking damn it," Packer said behind me, his voice filling what little space there was between us. My heart jumped up into my throat.

"The assholes in charge of this cuntsucking island refused to take me at my word, and look what it got them. Please, just trust me. You will not have to worry about the Machinists and Horticulturists."

The silence that followed was as oppressive as Packer's exclamation. I glanced toward the Old Man.

I could stop this car. It's not too late to come up with a Plan B.

My thinking must've made it down to my feet, as the car's speed suddenly dropped just a little. The Old Man shot me a sharp look, shaking his head ever so slightly. I guess that meant that Plan A was still a go, then.

I'm too keyed-up for this. I need something to take my mind off of things. Unfortunately, there is no such thing. Just a police car with the Old Man, Packer, his wife, and Bill Jorgensen's possibly soon-to-be widow.

There is the radio. I reach into my coat, turning the volume up. I'd turned the cruiser's radio off before the car was loaded up . . . neither Kaley nor Nara needed to hear the Watch radio traffic.

" . . . on dispatch. Over."

"You're serious? One of 'em was working central dispatch? Over."

"Roger that. Fast bastard too. Got a couple of guys looking for him. Over."

Now wasn't that a pleasant thought? These 'Volunteers' . . . infiltrating the Watch. Guess that explained how they could've pulled off that job in the Couples' District. Here's an even more pleasant thought, the guy got away. Even more pleasant still, I think the Old Man had his suspicions. For an instant, I flashed back to when we'd first come onto that pier at the old Coast Guard station, and recalled his reaction to being told the names of the men working central dispatch.

"Where is the Commandant? Over."

I recognized that voice. That desert-dry, accented voice could only have been that of the Aussie.

"He is en-route. What's your status? Over.

"The Council is settled down and under guard now. We had a few exciting moments with the Volunteers and at least one Councilman, but all that's sorted out now. Over."

Well, I thought, as I made a left turn, there's something that's gone right, at least.

"Do you have men to spare? Over."

Huh?

"All Watch stations are being fully mobilized. What's the situation? Over."

"Developing. Couples' District. There's a crowd and it's looking less friendly. Over."

My eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror, at the faces of Packer and the women. From the moment the shooting started, I knew this was going to happen. Almost nobody likes having their neighborhood used as a shooting backstop. When the neighborhood gets used as a battlefield, even the last hold-outs can be spooked into joining the mob.

"Are they . . . demanding anything? Over."

" . . . nothing coherent. Some are demanding we leave. Others; that we bring in more men. Some are demanding Packer . . . they're just generally angry. Over."

I nodded, more to myself than to anyone in the car.

"Do make sure they don't become specifically angry, then. The last thing we need is a riot. You will get more men in the Couples' District. Over."

I wondered how they were going to do that. Stop them from becoming specifically angry, that is. I guess, if they could keep 'em distracted, the crowd would eventually be encouraged to disperse on its own.

"Please," Nara said suddenly. I looked up, and the Old Man twisted around in the seat next to me.

"Please help Miles. He is my friend, and he is a good man. If he is hurt because..." her voiced choked off suddenly, and she sniffled.

Is she crying? I thought. I glanced in the rearview mirror, but my eyes couldn't stay. There was another turn coming up. The conversation had turned to Miles Jameson while I'd been playing chauffeur. We knew the Volunteers had picked him up. I, personally, didn't know much beyond that.

"Please," Nara whispered again. I risked a glance at the Old Man. Didn't know much about his history before the Malevolent Powers had sent us all back in time, but I knew he'd been a family man back in the future. Something she said must've struck a chord with him, because his expression softened in a way I don't think I've ever seen before.

"Okay, Nara. I will have him released and brought to the hospital when morning comes," he said.

Almost thankfully, the last turn was here. Ahead of me were many flashing blue and red lights. That had to be the Council chambers. There were a bunch of sullen-looking young men sitting outside in the cold, their hands zip-tied in front of them. Glints of gunmetal in the flashing lights marked Watchmen. One of the Watchmen stood apart from the rest, gesturing to the others with one hand, and his radio was to held to his ear by the other. In a way, it was good to see the Aussie again. It meant that the situation was in hand, at least for the moment.

"The Constable here will take you into the building," the Old Man said. He, too, had his situation in hand. His voice seemed a bit more . . . I don't know . . . brittle, frosty. I shook it off, it had been a very long night, after all.

I turned off the car. "Follow me," I said, as I turned to slide out of the car and adjust my sixgun.

"Packer? A word?" The Old Man stood on the other side of car.

Packer glanced at me, then the Old Man. "Right. I'll catch up with you guys. Find 'em someplace comfortable to sit, yeah? They're pregnant, after all."

I nodded, leading the women toward the building.

"What the hell are you doing back here," someone said behind me. I paused, turning back to look.

"Good to see you too, John," I replied. "I'm here 'cause the Old Man wants me to be here . . . This is Nara, Packer's wife from the mainland. And this is Kaley, Bill Jorgensen's wife-to-be," I added, by way of introduction. A flash of emotion crossed John's face as I mentioned Bill's name. I started to frown, when he made a gesture. Later, was what it meant. We really did have a hand-gesture for that. I nodded once, and then turned back to Nara and Kaley.

"Right this way, ladies," I said. I guided them to a small lobby, nodded to a couple of Watchmen as they went by.

"Can I get either one of you anything?" I asked. "Water? Tea? Something to eat, maybe?"

Kaley looked right at me . . . no, she looked through me, at a point way behind my head. Nara looked at Kaley, and then at me.

"No," Nara replied. "No thank you." She turned her attention back to Kaley. "Kaley, we should rest."

Kaley looked at Nara, like some sort of caged animal . . . like she wanted to scream in defiance. Nothing came, though. I could see the circles of exhaustion under the young woman's eyes. At length, the look faded and was replaced by the blank mask she'd worn the whole night. A mask which crumbled under the onslaught of exhaustion. Soon, Kaley had turned her back to both Nara and myself. Not long after that, she was snoring softly.

"Packer will be here soon," I said to Nara, keeping my voice down. "I will keep watch until then."

I watched the doorways. It was, thankfully, quiet. Nobody came by to bother us. I propped myself against the wall, staring at the chairs with heavy-lidded eyes and a wistful gaze. I sternly dismissed the temptation with full force. My day wasn't yet over.

After a while, Packer came in and took a seat next to the women. I wanted to ask him what he and the Old Man had talked about, only I knew that the answer would be well above my pay grade. That was fine, for the moment. As long as somebody told me where to shoot, that was all I really needed.

I chuckled a bit. The man was falling asleep. Couldn't really blame him, but this was going to be his show. But he, more than anyone else, deserved a bit of a break; and the Old Man was nowhere to be found. So I left him be. For a while, anyway. The internal clock in my head counted off fifteen long minutes.

"Hey, Packer," I said.

"Yeah," Packer replied, sitting up with a start. He looked around and rubbed his face. I tried not to do the same.

"Listen," he suddenly said. I looked up and at him with a start. "If you feel like sticking around Nantucket after all this, you should sign up for the language class I want to teach. I think you'd do well. And I'd personally make sure that you'd be part of the group that came out to Cape Cod in the spring. I can't make any guarantees, but you'd have a good shot at getting a woman out there."

I'm . . . well . . . I honestly don't know what to make of that. Women . . . I knew a few, back in the future. I even got to know a couple in the Biblical sense. And they'll all haunt me for a very long time to come. I admit, I've spent more than a few sleepless nights wondering what happened to everyone back in the future. Are they still alive, living in a parallel world? Or did Haruhi and Q erase that old world when we were compelled into this one?

I looked at Nara. There are women here, you know? A whole new planet of people out there.

I ain't very good at people.

You made it this far, didn't you? No true loner would've made it this far under these circumstances.

I don't know . . .

"Not sure what I'd do out there," I finally replied. It wasn't quite true. I had an idea I'd been kicking around for the last few months. What I wasn't sure of was what I'd possibly do out on Cape Cod.

Packer shrugged. "Do what I did. Find a girl, knock her up, and start a family. Only you'll have the advantage of knowing how to say hello beforehand."

Hah. There is always that. "I meant, for a living."

Packer chuckled. "Why not be a sheriff? You can even keep the badge. You're about my age, right? You've probably got thirty good years left, assuming you don't get nipped by cancer or something in your prime. Plenty of time to raise a bunch of little Constables."

Gods, that's an idyllic image. Marry into a good local family. Raise a clutch of youngsters. Tell them tales from my storied youth. Of the fantastic time from whence I came. Where I was a wizard who commanded mechanical servants to do my bidding with arcane spells like for(), do-while, and if-then-else. And of the time since I arrived . . . every blood-soaked day of it. Goddamn it, I've killed more people in the space of a year than some genuine Old West outlaws did in their fucking lifetimes. What sort of child would a shootist like myself raise? Young men, their heads filled with tales of blood, guts, and gumption . . . going out into the world and carving out their mark on it at the tip of a sword?

I looked at Nara, again. There were many women like her, sleeping across the continent. Dreaming their idyllic dreams of hunting deer, picking berries, maybe settling down with a strapping young brave. All of them, blissfully unaware that our arrival was going to change their lives forever.

"Look," Packer went on, "What I said for the Old Man applies to you, too. I owe you my life, so the least I can do is make this offer. And I don't make it lightly. I want decent people to have the opportunity to make a new life out on Cape Cod, and buddy, you make the cut in my book."

I could only nod. I'm glad you think me decent, Packer. Hell, I'm glad you still think any of us are decent. If I were in your moccasins, I wouldn't be nearly so magnanimous . . . you're a much bigger man than I, and for that I will always respect you.

A noise made me turn my head away from Packer. At the far end of the hall, John's eyes met with mine, and he nodded once.

"Time to go," I said. Packer got the girls up, and checked his weapons. I checked that old Colt at my side, and eyed Packer's arsenal as he started down the hall. Well, I thought, perhaps you're not that magnanimous after all.

"Hey, don't worry," Packer said. "You know I'm not gonna do anything. I know I'm not gonna do anything. They don't."

I nodded my acknowledgment, but my mind was elsewhere. On what lay ahead. No, I wasn't thinking as far ahead as the spring. That was too far away, I had to get through today, first. If they think you're going to do something . . . these are hard men, Packer. Yeah, you've taken a level in badass, but nobody on Nantucket has made it this far without learning a few tricks of their own.

Guess that's where I come in. Wonder how many more people'll end up dead by the time this day is done?

We found the door. Two Watchmen guarded it. I, only faintly, recognized them; but they sure recognized me.

"He's already in there. You guys can go in whenever."

I turned to Packer. I felt . . . remarkably calm . . .

"Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," he replied. I nodded, that was good enough for me. I pushed the doors open, and he swept in. The transformation was stunning.

"Somebody screwed it up bigtime!" Packer said, his voice thundering through the Council Chambers, commanding near-instant silence. Eyes swiveled to lock on him, as emotion rippled through the room. Shock and surprise dominated, but Packer pushed ahead; like a bull charging into the ring.

"You!" Packer snarled, and he leveled a finger at a woman, "I cannot believe the audacity! To claim that you actually cared about the well-being of my wife! Then to put her in harm's way...just get to me? To say nothing of Kaley! Your supposed ward!"

I saw Simon jump to his feet . . . Gail Underhill was an interesting first target. My eyes were looking towards the Chairman and the Shark. I found them, and I'll tell you, it was like taking a dip in liquid nitrogen. Both men could've passed for Vulcans, for all the emotion they showed. I suppose the opportunity to surprise either of them had passed when the Watch sealed off the building.

Gail's response was lost to me, but Packer's thunderous, indignant anger was not. "Oh, of course not." Packer rolled his eyes. "Then why did you throw us to the wolves, hmm? What the fuck did you think would happen? Kaley's fiancee got fucking shot!"

That got a response from the Chairman. A flash of emotion crossed his face, and his eyes flicked toward the Shark. For his part, the Shark stared at Packer. The expression reminded me of that of a rattler regarding a particularly tasty-looking pack-rat.

"The question then becomes," Packer continued, "who was in on this with you? What piece of frog shit would endanger the lives of others just to get at me?" Packer gesticulated wildly, his arms encompassing the whole room.

"Mister Packer!" The Old Man said. The steel in his voice stopped Packer dead in his tracks.

"We will get to the bottom of this, but I must insist that you allow me to handle this."

"Of course," Packer replied, his expression sour. He shouldered past one of the Watchmen on his way to the chairs. Nara and Kaley followed him, Kaley fairly collapsing into hers. I took my place behind them. I continued to watch the Councilors. The shock was fading, and some of them were starting to look around.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Council," the Old Man said. "You must excuse Mister Packer. He's been through a hell of an ordeal tonight, and he jumped to conclusions with incomplete information. The bare fact remains, however, that an attempt on Packer's life was made. I have come here because the urgency of the situation demands we learn who is behind this."

"And it's not your men?" the Chairman asked. Something seemed off about the way he asked that.

"No," the Old Man replied. "In fact, two of my men, the men assigned to watch the house which was attacked, were found dead an hour ago. The assailants were either killed or critically injured; the three which are still alive are at the hospital now. None of them were members of the Watch, or the Constabulary."

That finally provoked a reaction from the Shark. His eyebrows narrowed, and the faintest hint of a scowl creased his face. Was he unhappy because his hatchet men had been sloppy? Or because some of them had survived?

The Chairman winced, but I could see the wheels turning in his head.

"Have the assailants been identified?" He asked. I suspect he already knew the answer.

"Some have." The Old Man opened a manila folder and scanned it. "Two chefs, one woodcutter, a brewer, and a carpenter." The Old Man paused, and then said, "And all members of the Volunteers."

That knocked the shock right off the Council.

"Impossible!"

"Why the hell would they do something like that?"

"He's lying!"

"Who would dare order something like that?"

For every Councilor who was expressing outrage, there was at least one or two more who were sitting very quietly. At one end, Simon was among them. At the other end, the Shark.

Bang. Bang.

"Order . . . order . . . order," the Chairman growled, banging his gavel. Eventually, he cowed them into silence. He looked like he was about to say something, but the Old Man cut him off.

"As you can surely understand, I have removed all deputy powers from the remaining Volunteers."

He strode into the horseshoe and handed a sheet of paper to the Chairman. "This is a standing order which lists the Volunteers by name and disallows them from carrying weapons or performing actions of police. Accordingly, my men have disarmed all Volunteers in this building, and they have seized the armory utilized by them, too."

He looked at the paper, then fixed the Old Man in his gaze.

"And what gives you the right to do that? The Volunteers are the Council's business."

The temperature in the room started to drop.

"What gives you the right to come in here, disrupt a Council meeting and then threaten to disrupt our daily business by forcibly disarming the Volunteers. By our agreement, all of your actions are illegal!"

The Chairman's voice boomed through the chambers. Its very presence daring any to speak out against him.

"However, as these are," his eyes slid past the Old Man to rest squarely on Packer, "interesting times . . . with interesting people. I am willing to overlook that. If you have a list of suspects . . . we will hold them, and we will investigate them, and them alone!"

"Are you done, Mister Chairman," the Old Man replied. His voice liquid nitrogen to the Chairman's ice. "These are my terms, Mister Chairman," he said, very suddenly in the Chairman's personal space. "Two of my men were killed tonight, because of the Volunteers. And one fights for his life," He leaned closer, as the rest of the Council chambers descended into a frosty, tense, silence. "These are my terms, and I intend to accept nothing less."

Silence. The temperature dropped further, and further.

"Is that so," the Chairman replied. His voice dripped liquid helium. He and the Old Man regarded each other, basilisk stares exchanged from a distance of mere inches.

"I will explain," the Old Man said. He stepped back, only so he could cast his gaze around the chambers.

"I understand that things have been quite busy while I was away. Mister Packer gave me a brief summary of your meeting. From what he's said, he made what seems to be a very reasonable peace overture, getting the plans back and all." His eyes tracked from Councilor to Councilor, with a sharpshooter's cold precision. "He offered peace with his people," he looked back at Packer, "a chance at a cultural exchange," his eyes briefly came to rest on me; "a chance at reconciliation."

"It's a good idea," Simon said, standing suddenly. I noticed his hand was on Gail's shoulder. "And, you're right, Mister Packer did make a good argument," he added, throwing a glance at the Chairman.

"And I agree," the Old Man replied. "What I fail to understand, is why we are here; like this. Why events have unfolded the way they have tonight."

"I can tell you," the Chairman said, with exaggerated slowness. "We are here on account of Mister Packer."

"In a midnight meeting, of course," the Old Man replied.

"Surely, you understand that Mister Packer's return, and what he proposes, present Nantucket with a significant issue. One that has to be handled with the utmost urgency."

"Or with all the care and consideration that it deserves," the Old Man said, his voice starting to fill the room. "I used to attend these meetings, Chairman. Care and consideration were what we gave to issues confronting the future of Nantucket. Urgency was something we reserved for matters of security. What reason, other than Packer's return, could possibly provoke a security meeting?"

"And how soon you forget that this is a holistic body, Commandant," the Shark spoke, at last. "Yes, Alferd Packer offers a compelling vision of the future. On the other hand, his return marks a legitimate security concern. Tell me, Commandant of the Watch, would you disagree with that assessment? Should we not view one without the context of the other?"

The Old Man chuckled. The sound was horrifying in its chilliness. "Context," he replied, his lips pulled back into a grim facsimile of a smile. "The context is important, Mister Dolsen. All over this island, people have been taking things out of context. They still are. Right now, there is an angry crowd gathered at the Couples' District. Come dawn, there may be angry crowds all over Nantucket."

There were a few gasps, and suddenly-grim expressions. Councilmen and Councilwomen both, had spouses in the Couples' District.

"While the Watch thwarted the attempt on Packer's life without innocent bloodshed, the Volunteers transformed a neighborhood into a battlefield tonight in their assassination attempt. People are asking questions that nobody has any good answers to. The sooner we find those answers, the sooner we uncover why the Volunteers behaved as they did; the sooner we can avert a disaster."

"Cowboy," the voice in my ear made my body stiffen. I pressed the earbud tighter to my ear. "Tell the Commandant the hospital sent your suspect into surgery . . . they are also requesting Jorgensen's . . . next-of-kin . . . "

Oh gods . . . I started to move toward the Old Man. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Packer's eyes were on me. I quickly looked back at him, and glanced once at Kaley. The way he suddenly slumped into his chair told me that he'd gotten the message.

"Sir," I whispered to the Old Man. "A moment?"

The Old Man's eyes swept across the Council chambers. "I have a few. Make it quick."

I ignored all the other eyes that were on me. "Head Volunteer's in surgery . . . but something's happened to Bill. They want Kaley there ASAP."

The Old Man's expression barely changed.

"Get her out of here," he replied.

I hurried. It couldn't have been more than forty seconds from the time I got the call, to the time I was at Kaley's side.

"We have to go to the hospital," I said. No holding back, no sugar-coating it.

Kaley's expressionless mask was gone in an instant. "Oh no," she moaned. ""No, no, no. I can't," she started to say. "I won't go," she screamed, grabbing the chair. The buzz that was starting up in the Council chambers was, at once, silenced. As I started to reach for her, someone suddenly pushed their body between mine and Kaley's. I blinked, finding myself gazing into Gail Underhill's tired, yet steely eyes. Before I knew it, I'd found myself off to the side.

"Kay," Gail said softly. "Look at me." Kaley resisted, but eventually, she did look up. "He needs you. He needs you more than he's ever needed you. He's even more scared that you are. He needs to know that you'll be OK."

Kaley stared at her in agonized silence. "But I can't!" she finally sobbed. "How can I?"

"Simple. You just do it," Gail replied. "We'll go together," she added softly. "Come on." Somehow, Kaley found it in herself to respond to the older woman. Together, they started for the door. One of the Watchmen looked at the Old Man, and he nodded once, sharply. The Watchman peeled off, hurrying behind them.

"I hereby name Simon my proxy, should the need for a vote arise," Gail called out, while looking back at us one last time. Then, with a heavy click the door closed behind her, and she was gone.

"So noted," the Chairman called out after her. His voice at that point was small, yet it echoed through the sudden silence. The other Councilors may not have directly heard what had been said, but the actions they saw told them all they needed to know. What it meant to them, I didn't know. And as my head and heart started to ache, I found didn't really give a damn.

As I didn't give a damn what the Councilors thought, the gathering storm paid no heed to what anyone thought. The silence was underlaid by a collective intake of breath, shortly before it was shattered by the first man to speak . . .

"What the hell were you thinking?" The first man had spoken. It wasn't the Old Man. It wasn't the Chairman. It wasn't Packer. It wasn't even the Shark.

It was Mike Wong.

"The Chair recognizes," the Chairman was quick to react. Lightning-quick, but Wong was quicker.

"Shut it, Fernandez," Mike said, with a hand-chopping gesture. "We're fucking around with people's safety for the sake of politics, and it's going to stop," he turned to face the Old Man again, the lights of the room glinting off the top of his head.

"I ask you again, Commandant; what the hell were you thinking? No . . . before you try to bullshit me," he paused. I suddenly realized he was looking my way. His scowl deepened. "Mister Packer would you, and the Watchman standing behind you, approach the Council?"

I looked to the Old Man. I knew Packer was doing the same. The Old Man nodded once, and we both stepped forward.

"These two men look like they've seen the wrong end of a shop accident," Mike said. "Commandant, how did your men stop the attempt on Packer's life?"

"There was no time to set up a proper blockade of the area," the Old Man replied. "I knew that they'd already killed or incapacitated my men watching the Couples' District. They were armed, and dangerous; unlikely to negotiate. I took a team, infiltrated the area, and stopped the assassins directly."

Mike Wong's expression hardened.

"The men you put in the hospital tonight; why are they in the hospital?"

"One is in the hospital for head trauma. The others are there to be treated for gunshot wounds."

I heard a buzz start up behind Mike.

"And how many are not going to the hospital?"

I held my breath. This wasn't going anywhere good . . .

"Eight," the Old Man replied. There was an explosive gasp.

"What a fucking mess you people have made of things," Mike said, rubbing his temples. "Eight killed. I suppose they were all fucking 'resisting arrest' too, right?"

The Old Man nodded once. "That's correct."

"You, Watchman," Mike said, looking right at me. "What's your name?"

The butterflies in my stomach were growing razor-wings. Nonetheless, I told him. His jaw worked for a few moments.

"I remember you now," he said. "You were one of the shooters who 'handled' the crowd on Day One. And your name keeps popping up whenever the Watch ends up killing somebody. I suppose you took part in Packer's 'rescue,' too?"

I could only nod. "Yes sir," I replied.

"I see," Mike said. "Commandant," he said, "if I am to understand everything I'm seeing right; your men . . . invaded the Couples' District, on the belief that a hit squad sent by the Council was going to try to kill Alferd Packer. Who actually sent them, and their actual purpose, is beside the point," he flashed a glance in the direction of the Chairman and the Shark . . . I wondered what that was about.

"The point is . . . you assholes proceeded to get into a goddamn shootout in the Couples' District! You know who's in the Couples' District right now? I will tell you. Rebecca, my wife. People we need to survive; Engineers like Tim and his wife Emma! Many of Nantucket's women are there. Many of whom are fucking pregnant!"

The man was visibly flushed, his body shaking. I looked around the Council chambers. The others sat in stunned silence. Some were glaring at us with looks deadlier than the business end of a Winchester '73. The Chairman, though, he was looking a bit pale. No, strike that, very pale. Even the Shark looked like he'd just bitten into something very, very sour.

"So, Commandant, I will ask you one more time . . . What the hell were you thinking?"

That did it . . .

"Yeah, what the hell? How's my wife doing?"

"How's my husband doing?"

"What are you waiting for, tell us!"

Bang, bang.

"Order, let the man answer, order!" The Chairman was prodded into action, and he started banging his gavel. I glanced at the other Watchmen, finding them looking nervously around the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that's enough!"

Who said that? Was it the Old Man? No. Packer? No. Whoever it was instantly silenced at least half the shouters. I blinked, as recognition overcame denial.

"The Council will come to order," the Chairman pried at the opening the Shark had given him. The angry din faded into a hostile silence.

"Yes, Commandant . . . Toby," the Shark said. His eyes were locked onto us. "I am very interested in hearing how you intend to justify your actions tonight. And, as you can tell by the response to the esteemed Mister Wong's question, so are the rest of the Council." He paused to look around. And then, his eyes returned to ours once more. "You must forgive us for being a bit . . . emotional, this has been a long and trying night. The floor is yours, Toby. We're waiting."

"Thank you . . . James," the Old Man replied. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Council," he said, sweeping his eyes across the room. "You ask me, 'what was I thinking'? I ask the same of you. My men were instructed to give the Volunteers the opportunity to lay down their arms and surrender. But did they do so?" He trailed off into a chilly silence.

"No!" The sudden volume made me jump. "The Volunteers chose to come out shooting. They opened fire without hesitation; with no apparent regard for their backstop. And the last one . . . the last one was about to execute Packer in cold blood.

"Some of you forget that I was married back in the future! That I was a family man. I would've done anything to protect my family! And here you are, accusing me and the Watch of gambling with the lives of your loved ones," the Old Man took a deep breath. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Council, I have to ask myself; what are you hiding? To send twelve men to ensure the death of one, regardless of the consequences. What kind of people are you; to recruit such irresponsibly ruthless men to serve as your protectors and enforcers?"

He paused. Silent stares greeted him. The silence dragged on, and I caught a couple of Councilors starting to turn to each other. To whisper into each others' ears.

"I remember that there was a plan," the Old Man said. His voice was much calmer now, yet heads snapped around with a start. "In the beginning, there was a plan. A plan that evolved from the necessity of keeping alive four-thousand men and women who only knew each other through SDN. A plan to create a community that could preserve some semblance of the life we once knew. To ensure a soft landing," his eyes momentarily met Simon's. "Where is that now, ladies and gentlemen? There's another question I ask myself. That I've been asking myself for months now. I don't like the answers I'm getting." He looked back at Packer. "I don't like what we've done to people who dared to speak out. What we're doing to them now."

"I've heard enough," the Shark said. "We asked you to justify your actions tonight, Commandant. And how do you respond? By accusing the Council of dispatching murder squads. Of accusing these men of somehow failing to show restraint when confronted from the darkness by armed men pointing guns at them! If we're going to reminisce about the old days, then I hope you'll recognize a bit of Latin. Tu quoque, much, Toby?"

He stood, stepping around his table. "Now, I admit. I do not like Packer. He is a threat. Where he goes, he spreads discord and chaos. He forces the Council to expend energy dealing with him, instead of working on the plan. But would I try to have him murdered? No. I still believe in the system, Commandant." He scoffed. "Of course, the system is adept enough at killing people as it is. Or are you going to tell me that Muskeget was a luxury resort in the early days?"

The Shark crossed into the center of the horseshoe. He came to stand within a foot of the Old Man. Within easy reach of Packer's spear. Within point-blank shooting of my old Colt. Yet, if he noticed the firepower before him, he gave no indication of noticing, nor caring.

"I don't believe you have anything else of substance to offer in your defense," he said. "I notice that not only does Alferd Packer stand with you, but also someone from the Martha's Vineyard penal colony. Let's not mince words, Toby. You're keeping company with convicts. And not just convicts, but one whose mindset," his eyes slid to Nara, "is under the influence of foreign powers."

My eyes flicked to Packer. His words echoed in his head: You know I'm not gonna do anything. I know I'm not gonna do anything . . . Just a little longer . . . don't make him a fucking martyr. Please don't make him a martyr. Packer surprised me, though. I expected to find a man barely restraining murderous intent. Instead, I caught sight of him just in time to see him roll his eyes and make a jerking-off motion with his hand. I couldn't help but smile at that.

"I have no confidence that you're acting in Nantucket's best interest, Toby," the Shark said, pressing on. "To accuse the Volunteers of acting as the Watch has only proves it. If you really care for the plan; for the soft landing," his voice suddenly lowered, "you will have Packer removed from the chamber. You will have," his eyes flicked to me, "this man from Martha's Vineyard removed. You will have Packer's wife removed, so that the Council can get on with the business of keeping Nantucket on-plan."

I gaped at him. At his audacity. To act as though the Old Man and Packer had done nothing more than throw a child's temper tantrum and then insist that we leave and let the adults take care of things. That he was baiting us was certain. That he was seemingly willing to throw his life away in the name of his cause, that was frightening. Even more frightening, I found myself more, and more tempted to indulge him.

I looked over at the Old Man, blinked, and looked again. I knew, deep down, that this had been a long night. But to see the storm of emotion that was boiling on the man's face was truly terrifying. Just then, I realized that while we'd stormed the Council chambers with the intention of making it all right, of tearing the whole corrupt mess down . . . only to do so meant that we had to enter the Shark's home turf. To play by the Shark's rules in a game so rigged that it wouldn't have seemed out of place at the sleaziest casino you could imagine.

Suddenly, Packer was at the Old Man's side, taking him by the arm. The Old Man flashed a look at Packer . . . and for once, the man looked stunned.

"Let me," I heard Packer say, softly, "I'm supposed to be the hothead, remember?"

I looked at the Old Man. He looked, momentarily, lost in thought. And then, he nodded once and took a quarter-step back. I pursed my lips grimly, understood that; for the first time, the Old Man and the Shark had faced off . . . and the Old Man had blinked. It had been Packer's show when we first stormed in here, and it appeared that it'd be Packer's show once more.

[Kartr_Kana]

Now I know why you're the Grand Master. This scene is intense, it sucks you in and throws you around, a roller coaster of pure emotion, and it's a cliff hanger!! Damnit man I'll be on tenter hooks till your next installment!

[Simon_Jester]

Now I know why you're the Grand Master. This scene is intense, it sucks you in and throws you around, a roller coaster of pure emotion, and it's a cliff hanger!! Damnit man I'll be on tenter hooks till your next installment!

Well don't worry too much; we're really rolling.

[The Vortex Empire]

I take back my last post, now the shit's hitting the fan. So who is really behind the hit squads? How many councilmen and women are involved? And how will Packer and the Watch stop them? I want the next chapter.

[Alferd Packer]

Day 362, 5 AM, Nantucket

Packer found Sixgun and the girls in a little waiting area on the ground floor. Nara and Kaley had curled up on a couch and were already asleep. Packer plopped down quietly in a chair nearby, looking at them with envy. Amazingly, he found himself drifting off a bit.

"Hey, Packer," Sixgun said. Packer jostled, then sat up in the chair, wondering how much time had elapsed. The other man was standing up, periodically looking down the hallways. Now that the light was better, Packer could see that he looked just as tired as Packer felt, to say nothing of the beatings he'd taken in the night.

"Yeah," Packer said, as a way of confirming that he was awake. He rubbed his face, absently wondering when he'd next have the chance to shave. "Listen," Packer went on. "If you feel like sticking around Nantucket after all this, you should sign up for the language class I want to teach. I think you'd do well. And I'd personally make sure that you'd be part of the group that came out to Cape Cod in the spring. I can't make any guarantees, but you'd have a good shot at getting a woman out there."

Sixgun looked over at Nara, who was now snoring a bit, then back to Packer. "Not sure what I'd do out there," he said finally.

Packer shrugged. "Do what I did. Find a girl, knock her up, and start a family. Only you'll have the advantage of knowing how to say hello beforehand."

Sixgun replied, "I meant for a living."

Packer chuckled. "Why not be a sheriff? You can even keep the badge. You're about my age, right? You've probably got thirty good years left, assuming you don't get nipped by cancer or something in your prime. Plenty of time to raise a bunch of little Constables."

Sixgun didn't reply, but he looked back at Nara again. "Look," Packer went on, "What I said to the Old Man applies to you, too. I owe you my life, so the least I can do is make this offer. And I don't make it lightly. I want decent people to have the opportunity to make a new life out on Cape Cod, and buddy, you make the cut in my book."

Sixgun nodded. Is he considering it? Packer thought. Trying to picture himself as a dad? Hell, he might still be trying to get past the idea that he'd ever get the chance to get close to a girl again, to say nothing of being a family man. It's tough to wrap your head around...until it happens, anyway.

A Watchman appeared down at the far end of the hall and signaled. "Time to go," Sixgun said.

Packer got to his feet and woke the girls up. He hefted his spear, checked that his hatchet was still on his side, and headed down the hall. He caught Sixgun glancing at his weapons.

"Hey, don't worry," Packer said. "You know I'm not gonna do anything. I know I'm not gonna do anything. They don't."

Sixgun nodded silently, but he didn't look happy about it. Or maybe something else was bugging him. Guy's tighter than a crab's asshole, Packer thought. Then, as an afterthought: Though to be fair to him, you haven't seen him under the most ideal conditions. He's probably a pretty chill dude when he's not fighting for his life.

They came to a nondescript wooden door, which was flanked by Watchmen. One of these nodded to Sixgun. "He's already in there. You guys can go in whenever."

Sixgun looked at Packer. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Packer said. Sixgun pulled the door open, and Packer strode in, yelling at the top of his lungs, "Somebody screwed it up bigtime!"

It was hard to believe how much had changed in the last two and a half hours. It was also hard to believe that Packer had energy to speak at all, let alone yell.

The Council Chambers were fairly big, with the series of long tables arranged in a rough horseshoe that covered one half of the room. The other half was given over to chairs and a small, raised platform up against the far wall, that, in kinder times, was probably used for presentations. Packer had entered at a side door near this platform, and at his first outburst, all eyes were on him.

He had the idea to provoke as strong a reaction as possible out of the Councilors, and the Old Man agreed. Maybe, just maybe, someone would give themselves away. Maybe the Shark would immediately demand Packer's arrest. Maybe one of his cronies would try to flee the room to summon help. Anything that wasn't a calculated move could give them the clues they needed.

As it was, the reaction was uniform: shock. The cause of the shock was probably different, but that wasn't apparent. They simply turned and looked at Packer, in all his bloodied, bruised, and enraged glory, as he barreled into the room.

The Old Man was standing just before the opening of the horseshoe, flanked by six Watchmen in an impressive display. He barely turned to acknowledge Packer, Nara, and Kaley. Packer, though his face was contorted with anger, gave the Old Man the barest wink as he barreled past him. Would this work? Worth a try.

"You!" Packer snarled, and he leveled an accusatory finger at Gail Underhill. She was dressed in a track suit and looked positively exhausted, dark circles rimming her eyes. "I cannot believe the audacity! To claim that you actually cared about the well-being of my wife! Then to put her in harm's way...just get to me?! To say nothing of Kaley! Your supposed ward!"

Gail was, of course, horrified. She stammered, "M-m-mister Packer, I would never do anything to harm a wo--"

"Oh, of course not." Packer rolled his eyes. "Then why did you throw us to the wolves, hmm? What the fuck did you think would happen? Kaley's fiancée got fucking shot!"

Gail looked to be on the verge of tears. The combination of sleep deprivation and his words were obviously breaking down her reserve. She didn't even speak; she just sat motionless, hands trembling. The entire room was silent.

"The question then becomes," Packer continued, "who was in on this with you? What piece of frog shit would endanger the lives of others just to get at me?" He did a long, looping 360, arms out, facing each Councilor. "Who, hmm?"

"Mister Packer!" The Old Man growled.

Packer stopped and turned to see the Old Man glaring at him. "We will get to the bottom of this, but I must insist that you allow me to handle this!"

"Of course," Packer said sourly. He walked back over to the chairs, deliberately knocking into one of the Watchmen as he passed. He half-expected to get walloped upside his bad ear for it, but the guy was either in on the play, or he obeyed orders very well.

He sat down, and Nara and Kaley took their seats near him. Sixgun stood rather imposingly behind him. Kaley wept again, though feebly, but Packer didn't regret it. He'd accomplished his goal: the Council was unnerved.

For starters, Gail Underhill was crying. She was trying to compose herself, but the lack of sleep and emotional strain was obviously too much. This made the people near her uncomfortable, and compounded with Packer's final question, the shifty glances had begun. The other Councilors were asking themselves, Who among us could do such a thing? Packer then crossed his arms, sullenly, and he turned his attention back to the Old Man, who was once again speaking.

"...excuse Mister Packer," he was saying. "He's been through a hell of an ordeal tonight, and he jumped to conclusions with incomplete information. The bare fact remains, however, that an attempt on Packer's life was made. I have come here because the urgency of the situation demands we learn who is behind this."

"And it's not your men?" the Chairman asked.

"No," the Old Man replied evenly. "In fact, two of my men, the men assigned to watch the house which was attacked, were found dead an hour ago. The assailants were either killed or critically injured; the three which are still alive are at the hospital now. None of them were members of the Watch, or the Constabulary."

"Have the assailants been identified?" The Chairman seemed to wince every so slightly, which Packer found momentarily interesting...thought maybe he was manufacturing signs of guilt where none existed.

"Some have." The Old Man opened a manila folder and scanned it. "Two chefs, one woodcutter, a brewer, and a carpenter." The Old Man paused just a heartbeat too long, then said, "And all members of the Volunteers."

Packer was again amazed at the energy the exhausted Councilors displayed. People stood and shouted, literally pointing fingers at each other. The Chairman banged his gavel in futility. The Old Man waited gravely through this, as though he were a statue. When quiet had returned(quiet being a relative measure, of course), he continued:

"As you can surely understand, I have removed all deputy powers from the remaining Volunteers." He strode into the horseshoe and handed a sheet of paper to the Chairman. "This is a standing order which lists the Volunteers by name and disallows them from carrying weapons or performing actions of police. Accordingly, my men have disarmed all Volunteers in this building, and they have seized the armory utilized by them, too."

He looked at the paper, then fixed the Old Man in his gaze.

"And what gives you the right to do that? The Volunteers are the Council's business."

Packer perked up a bit; the Chairman plainly did not look happy, and though Packer couldn't see the Old Man, he could easily picture his piercing gaze.

"What gives you the right to come in here, disrupt a Council meeting and then threaten to disrupt our daily business by forcibly disarming the Volunteers. By our agreement, all of your actions are illegal!" The Chairman had a way of carrying himself that was rather impressive. Still, Packer had to stifle a laugh at what he was saying. Nara was trying to follow the conversation, and she gave him a questioning look. He shrugged.

"However, these are interesting times...with interesting people." The Chairman looked at Packer. Packer debated between either flipping him off, or rolling his eyes and making the 'jerk-off' hand gesture at him. In the end, he decided to exhibit a modicum of maturity and yawned. The Chairman went on: "I am willing to overlook that. If you have a list of suspects...we will hold them, and we will investigate them, and them alone!"

"Are you done, Mister Chairman?" the Old Man bit off. "These are my terms, Mister Chairman," he said, leaning over the table to get into the Chairman's face. Packer loved it; well, he loved the move. This was a goddamn deadly game, but he couldn't help but admire the massive, wrought-iron balls of the Old Man. "Two of my men were killed tonight, because of the Volunteers. And one fights for his life," He leaned closer; the Chairman could probably stick his tongue out and reach the Old Man's nose. "These are my terms, and I intend to accept nothing less."

Silence hung. Except for Kaley next to him, no one was even breathing.

"Is that so?" the Chairman replied after a calculated pause.

Packer watched this with the kind of rapt attention he would normally reserve for Game 7 of the World Series (assuming the Phillies weren't in it, of course). He hadn't expected such a pissing contest so early, but now it made sense. After all, the Watch had, at a stroke, removed the Council's muscle. The Chairman couldn't take that lying down, much as Packer would've liked.

And he's got to play hardball now, Packer thought. It'll make negotiating that much easier later. If negotiations are even possible. Maybe he'll just dictate terms throughout. He turned his attention back to the conversation, where the Chairman was speaking:

"...Mister Packer's return, and what he proposes, present Nantucket with a significant issue. One that has to be handled with the utmost urgency."

"Or with all the care and consideration that it deserves," the Old Man said, his voice starting to fill the room. "I used to attend these meetings, Chairman. Care and consideration were what we gave to issues confronting the future of Nantucket. Urgency was something we reserved for matters of security. What reason, other than Packer's return, could possibly provoke a security meeting?"

"And how soon you forget that this is a holistic body, Commandant," the Shark's voice was just a commanding as the Old Man's, though Packer thought it a good deal slimier. "Yes, Alferd Packer offers a compelling vision of the future. On the other hand, his return marks a legitimate security concern. Tell me, Commandant of the Watch, would you disagree with that assessment? Should we not view one without the context of the other?"

The Old Man chuckled. "Context," he said, seeming to analyze the word as it rolled off his tongue. "The context is important, Mister Dolsen. All over this island, people have been taking things out of context. They still are. Right now, there is an angry crowd gathered at the Couples' District. Come dawn, there may be angry crowds all over Nantucket."

There were a few gasps. Packer frowned, then he realized why: those Councilors most likely had significant others in the Couples' District right now. He found himself remarkably unsympathetic to them; in fact, he dispassionately noted that those Councilors might be counted on to go along with their plan, out of fear for their loved ones. Then again, maybe that'd cause them to dig in even harder.

Packer came back to reality, where the Old Man was speaking: "...the Volunteers transformed a neighborhood into a battlefield tonight in their assassination attempt. People are asking questions that nobody has any good answers to. The sooner we find those answers, the sooner we uncover why the Volunteers behaved as they did; the sooner we can avert a disaster."

Movement behind Packer grabbed his attention. He looked; Sixgun had a hand on his ear, and Packer watched his expression go from attentive to grim. He caught Packer watching him and, as he started moving, his eyes flicked over to Kaley. At once, Packer understood, his heart sinking, his body deflating. Packer slumped back into his chair as he watched Sixgun move across the Council Chambers.

The Old Man stopped and turned. Sixgun got close to him, whispered something. The expression on the Old Man's face confirmed it for Packer. Sixgun disengaged, then came back to Kaley.

"We have to go to the hospital," he said plainly.

Kaley, who'd been off in her own world, was brought crashing back to life by this. She looked up at Sixgun, her whole body beginning to tremble. "Oh, no," she moaned. "No, no, no. He can't be...I can't..." And like a child in the grip of a tantrum, she grasped the chair. "I won't go!" she bellowed, looking down and away from Sixgun, as though she could deny reality through sheer force of will. Sobs that bordered on some kind of convulsion began to wrack her entire body.

By now, everyone in the room understood what was happening and no one moved. Even Sixgun paused momentarily. The moment lingered painfully, then Gail Underhill was suddenly crouched in front of Kaley. Gently, she pointed Sixgun away, and as gently, she put a hand under Kaley's chin.

"Kay," she murmured. "Look at me." Kaley resisted, but eventually, she did look up. "He needs you. He needs you more than he's ever needed you. And you need to do this."

For an second that was an agony, Kaley processed this in silence. "But I can't!" she sobbed. "How can I?"

Gail took Kaley's hands. "Simple. You just do it. We'll go together," she said softly. "Come on."

Packer's head was spinning. He shot a look at Sixgun; the man was watching this as though it caused him actual physical pain. There was no doubt about it: Bill was dying, if not already dead.

Gail was leading Kaley out of the room. A Watchman, presumably their chauffeur, followed. Over her shoulder, Gail called out, "I hereby name Simon my proxy, should the need for a vote arise." Then she, Kaley, and the Watchman were gone.

"So noted," the Chairman muttered to a room that was so silent, it might as well have been empty.

Day 362, 5:30 AM, Nantucket

Being yelled at by an angry man was certainly nothing new to Packer, but Mike Wong was intimidating. Maybe an inch shorter than Packer, he was nonetheless built thickly and looked like one of the few men on the Council who could handle himself. As his tirade built, Packer felt himself wilting, shutting down. It was like getting yelled at by your boss, or your dad. He'd simply stay silent, take his licks, and the Old Man would deal with it. He withstood the barrage of the Councilors and the Shark as stonily as any man could, but...

"No!" Packer's eyes widened a bit, and he studied the Old Man carefully. It appeared that he was fully at the mercy of his emotions. Packer wasn't worried though...yet. He could keep it under control. "The Volunteers chose to come out shooting. They opened fire without hesitation; with no apparent regard for their backstop. And the last one . . . the last one was about to execute Packer in cold blood.

"Some of you forget that I was married back in the future! That I was a family man. I would've done anything to protect my family! And here you are, accusing me and the Watch of gambling with the lives of your loved ones!" The Old Man's hands were actually half-clenched fists, which was worlds apart from his seeming ease just a few minutes ago. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Council, I have to ask myself; what are you hiding? To send twelve men to ensure the death of one, regardless of the consequences. What kind of people are you; to recruit such irresponsibly ruthless men to serve as your protectors and enforcers?"

As Packer watched the Old Man speak, he realized that something was terribly wrong. Simply put, the Old Man was not fully in control of his emotions, and he sensed weakness there. What's more, he thought that the others did, too. As the Old Man finished his speech, Packer meant to step in, to force the Council to switch targets and give the Old Man time to recoup, but he was still feeling the effects of Mike Wong's words. So, he instead hesitated where he normally would not have, and the Shark leaped in.

"I've heard enough," the Shark said. Packer winced internally; he expected this, but he didn't have to like it. The Shark was now standing, hands planted on the table, leaning forward. "We asked you to justify your actions tonight, Commandant. And how do you respond? By accusing the Council of dispatching murder squads. Of accusing these men of somehow failing to show restraint when confronted from the darkness by armed men pointing guns at them! And now you're letting your newest lackey spring to your defense? If we're going to reminisce about the old days, then I hope you'll recognize a bit of Latin. Tu quoque, much, Toby?"

He stood, stepping around his table. "Now, I admit. I do not like Packer. He is a threat. Where he goes, he spreads discord and chaos. He forces the Council to expend energy dealing with him, instead of working on the plan. But would I try to have him murdered? No. I still believe in the system, Commandant. Of course, the system is adept enough at killing people as it is. Or are you going to tell me that Muskeget was a luxury resort in the early days?"

The Shark crossed into the center of the horseshoe, effectively joining the merry band of performers. Packer found himself tensing up a bit as he got into the Old Man's face. Would he remain in control?

"I don't believe you have anything else of substance to offer in your defense," he said. "I notice that not only does Alferd Packer stand with you, but also someone from the Martha's Vineyard penal colony." Packer looked a Sixgun, but Sixgun was wearing a poker face. "Let's not mince words, Toby. You're keeping company with convicts. And not just convicts, but one whose mindset," his eyes slid to Nara, "is under the influence of foreign powers."

This time, Packer couldn't resist, and he did roll his eyes and pump his fist in the 'jerk-off' hand gesture in the Shark's direction.

For his part, though, the Shark remained unperturbed by Packer's immaturity. "I have no confidence that you're acting in Nantucket's best interest, Toby," the Shark said. "To accuse the Volunteers of acting as the Watch has only proves it. If you really care for the plan; for the soft landing," his voice suddenly lowered, "you will have Packer removed from the chamber. You will have," his eyes flicked to Sixgun, "this man from Martha's Vineyard removed. You will have Packer's wife removed, so that the Council can get on with the business of keeping Nantucket on-plan."

The Old Man's face looked like the personification of a looming thunderhead; Mike Wong's words, combined with the Shark's impudence, were simply too much. Packer had to make his move, and do it now. He walked to the Old Man and grasped his inner arm calmly, but firmly; the look of plain bewilderment on the Old Man's face probably mirrored those of the Councilors. If his face was a question, it would have been: Why are you touching me?

Packer leaned in close and murmured, "Let me. I'm supposed to be the hothead, remember?"

And remarkably, the Old Man nodded silently and took a quarter step back. Good. He needed time to get his composure back, and Packer was happy to oblige. He smiled gamely, then whirled back to face Council in general, Mike Wong in particular. He would deal with the Shark in due time, as he reasoned the Council had become desensitized to the Shark's bombast in the last year, so the damage Mike Wong's words could do was actually the larger problem.

Packer cleared his throat. "You know what?" he began, giving Mike the hairy eyeball. "If given the choice between having myself dead, and having you," he gestured to Mike, "be terrified and angry, I think I'll take the latter, because, shockingly, I like being alive.

"Let me ask you something: why is it someone else's responsibility to watch out for your wife? Isn't that supposed to be your job?" The statement being what it was, Packer was not really surprised when the cords in Mike's neck bulged, and he looked like he wanted to leap across the table and throttle Packer. He was undaunted, though, and added, "If you were really concerned about the security of the Couples' District, you had plenty of time to speak up before I was even sent there! So, why the sudden outrage, huh?

"Now, the fact that none of you with spouses in the Couples' District tried to stop Ms. Underhill from sending me and my wife there tells us one of two possible things: either you were appallingly ignorant of my apparent threat, or that you, like her, honestly thought I, and by extension the District, would be calm."

Mike Wong glared at him; Packer continued. "Now, I choose to believe that the latter is the case, and if I'm right--which I think I am--that's a very interesting fact indeed. You," he pointed at Mike, "and the rest of you believed me. You were convinced that I was a changed man. You expected nothing like this to occur. That I was no longer a revolutionary. Well, you were right. I was not."

"Was not?" Simon now spoke up, looking worried.

Packer gave him a look, recalling suddenly the conversation they'd had yesterday. It seemed like half a lifetime ago. "You see, the event that we're being strawmanned away from is that the Volunteers attempted to murder me. They did murder two unlucky Watchmen, and Bill Jorgensen's life hangs in the balance as we speak! Their action, and every act subsequent to that, has been predicated upon the notion that I am, in fact, the monster some of you think of me. But, we must remember that as many of you, as evidenced by what has transpired tonight, hold precisely the opposite opinion." Packer looked around.

"So no, what we must really determine is who here is responsible for this direct action. Who ordered it. Who authorized it...if any even did." He looked back at Mike. "They're the targets of your ire. Not the Commandant or the men under his command." Silence. The furtive looks at one another had begun again.

"But you still stand with him?" Mike asked, gesturing towards the Old Man. He was plainly unhappy still, but Packer wagered that he'd come back from the brink of wanting to shove Packer's head up his own ass.

Packer looked at the Old Man, and shrugged. "He saved my life. He saved the life of my wife. That's more than any of you have ever done, and it counts for a lot. I won't lie. But more importantly, I am increasingly convinced that this Council cannot keep Nantucket stable, and stabilizing Nantucket is the reason I came back." He held his palm out and jabbed it from time to time with his index finger as he spoke.

"Let's consider what happened tonight. In the best case, the dozen Volunteers who murdered two Watchmen, maybe Bill, and came within a cunthair of shuffling me loose this mortal coil, represent a massive danger to the public at large. They are operating independent of your control or purview, and they're killing whomever they please for reasons known only to them. How the hell could anyone trust you guys, if you're that ineffectual and ignorant? You are the government! It's your job to know these things! To control your subordinates!

"Or, consider the possibility that this attack was sanctioned by one or more of you. It's apparent that it's been done without the knowledge of a significant number of Councilors." Packer spread his hands wide. "How does that show me that you guys are in control? That you guys can possibly govern effectively? And please," he shot a hand towards the Shark, "don't feed me a line of bullshit about this being an emergency. Governments must be expected to operate at all times, including when someone shits in their collective oatmeal. If you can't control your direct subordinates in a crisis, why do you deserve to be in power?"

Packer allowed everyone to soak this in. "So, in a general way, I guess what I'm saying is my support of the Commandant is the logical extension of my original position. To wit: I want a stable Nantucket, because a stable Nantucket is not a threat to my tribe. You, the men and women of this Council, have failed to demonstrate to me that you can keep Nantucket stable. It is, therefore, in the best interests of my tribe to back the group whom I judge to have the best chance of keeping this island from falling into anarchy. So, I back the Commandant."

He could feel himself flowing again; that old dynamism he had when he'd give the guys at the shop a pep talk, or at one of the few rallies they'd managed, or even goofing around on stage during a talent show was back. And his words were clearly having an effect; the vibe in the room was shifting.

But not everyone wanted that.

"Wonderful speech, Packer," the Shark said, getting right in his face. He'd actually never been this close to the Shark before, and Packer was forced to admit that he was a bit intimidating, without being overtly physically imposing. Still, he was no black bear, so Packer simply stared back at him. He went on.

"Commandant, I think we've been more than fair. Thank you for bringing this matter to our attention. We'll take over the investigation from here; please leave, as we've much to discuss." The silence in the room seemed to stretch on for hours, then...

"Is that all we have to do?" The Old Man said. Packer glanced at him; he was back in control again.

"Not quite," the Shark replied, turning to face him. "I want your commission, Toby. For the good of Nantucket, I invite you to resign your post as Commandant of the Watch. Furthermore, you will release all the men you have wrongly taken into custody. The Council and the Watch will investigate all your claims as thoroughly as circumstances permit. But I must insist that you recuse yourself from the proceedings."

The Shark folded his hands behind his back, as if inviting someone to take a shot at him.

"Very well," the Old Man said. Packer had been clearing some phlegm from his sinuses and nearly choked on it. "I have to say that it's an equitable price to pay. Frankly, I'm sick of defending the system."

Packer let go a silent sigh of relief.

"A system," the Old Man went on, "that is fundamentally broken. Fundamentally corrupt. A system that has murdered innocent people. A system that is as cruelly autocratic and self-serving as any kingdom our children are likely to run into; because there are those who would twist it to their own ends. Who would play good people," he quickly glanced at Mike, at Simon, "off each other.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council," the Old Man said. "I have a counter-proposal. Even as Mrs. Jorgensen goes to see her man; some of the Volunteers are also going to be taken to the hospital to see their comrades. To see the consequences of what they've done." He paused, looking down. "Last night, I promised to make things right. Mister Dolsen, you do have a point. That some of us need to step back, to recuse ourselves from the process. I put forth that this applies to the Council as well. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to voluntarily step aside; to recuse yourselves from the governance of Nantucket. However, in doing so, I ask that you create a framework that would give the people of Nantucket a real voice in what comes next."

The Council was, strangely, silent. No wild shouts of outrage. No accusations of treason or sedition. Even the Shark was quiet, Packer noted. He looked furious, but wasn't yelling or anything.

"And what," he finally said, "if we decline?"

"Then the men behind me will have you removed. All of you. Arrested for the attempted murder of Alferd Packer and his wife Nara. Of Bill Jorgensen and his wife Kaley. Arrested for the murders of the Watchmen responsible for their safety, and of the safety of those who dwell within the Couples' District.

"Those are my terms," the Old Man said. "What will it be, ladies and gentlemen?"

Silence again. Maybe the Shark was speechless; maybe he was coming up with a counterstroke. Packer didn't care. He was going to keep the momentum going.

"I think we should all think on this, here," Packer said quickly. "No yelling, no threats. Like it or not, things changed tonight, and the events in the Couples' District cannot be ignored. We all have to deal with this." He winked at the Shark, then strode across the horseshoe. He leaned against the edge of the table casually, half-resting on it and half-resting on his spear. It was a nice, casual pose that he sometimes used at Sing Story. It seemed to put people at ease--not that he expected it to here, of course. And, of course, he didn't want to block anyone's view, so he made sure to sit in front of the only empty seat on that side of the room--that is, the Shark's seat.

The Shark, for his part, was turning beet-red. I'd tell you to remember to breathe, Packer thought, but your dropping dead would solve much of our problems. Oh, that's an awful thing to think, AP. Get down to business!

"Let's all think about the consequences of tonight," Packer said. "Let's say the ultimatums somehow prove fruitless; The Old Man leaves and the Council remains empowered. What, now, can the Council effectively do? Can you really go back to working with these men and women, knowing that some among you ordered the Volunteers to assassinate me? Or, if you like, that the Volunteers were, by and large, an armed subversive group operating right under your nose? Hell, that's the very thing you fear the most! The thing you probably thought that I was up to before you sent me away! And then there's the Watch! Your men killed two of theirs! How do you plan to get anything done? How can you trust anyone?

"Or," he went on, looking at the Shark, "let's consider what happens if the Commandant stands down, and Jimmy-boy here takes over. Remember what he said: 'I want your commission, Toby.' Now, maybe he doesn't want to be Commandant, but what's gonna stop him from appointing a trusted friend to the position? In command of the entire armed forces of Nantucket Island, how long do you think I'll stick around? And how do you think it will take the general population to figure out that they've effectively been made subjects of King James I of Nantucket?" He looked at the Councilors. "How long do you think you'll all last under such a regime?"

"Oh, fucking bullshit!" the Shark snapped. Behind him the Old Man stood, and he managed to show a tiny smile on his face at this. Packer took that as a good sign and continued.

"Well, regardless of the actual truth, how are the people on this island going to feel about the Council reneging on the concessions you guys made over the summer? Remember when the Watch and the Council split? Now you want the Watch to be under direct control of the Council again? Come on. That's the quickest path to outright civil war that I can reasonably imagine.

"And then there's the final option. The Council stands down, presents a charter for ratification, and eventually holds elections. Yes, you thirty men and women lose power. But for how long? How many people on this island can really do your jobs, hmm? And now the rest of the people on this rock have a real, legitimate say in how things are run. Remember the population out there: they are, at their hearts, nerds. Most of them, anyway. Nerds love world-building, and you can hand them the most thrilling, daunting world-building challenge they could ever dream of. They will love it, and they will love you for it."

Packer looked down for a minute. "Remember that you have failed to demonstrate to me that you can control this island. I offered you as reasonable an offer as I could make, and you rejected it. Regardless of the outcome of tonight, I will not be negotiating with you further. If you value the future as you say you do, it is in your best interests to stand down, so that I may reach an amicable settlement with your successors. For the good of Nantucket."

Packer slid back off the table, letting go of his spear; it clattered to the floor in the middle of the horseshoe. "I never wanted any of this, of course. I don't like that I had to try to kill six men who were trying to kill me, and I detest the fact that I succeeded in killing one. I hate the fact that Bill Jorgensen, who was kind enough to let me into his house, may be dyi--"

He stopped mid sentence, as there was movement in the corner of his eye. One of the doors to the Council Chambers had swung open. Gail Underhill was back.

[The Vortex Empire]

So is Bill alive or going to live? Will the Council do the right thing? DAMMIT I NEED MORE.

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

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

Qh7# 1-0

Previously . . .

"Where's Bill? Where is he? I want to see him, oh God, I want to see him."

"Shhh," that was Gail Underhill. "Here comes the doctor now."

"Miss Underhill," Doctor Havenhill said. "Kaley, it's good to see you again."

"Where's Bill," Kaley interrupts, her eyes glittering. The doctor closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"I'll take you to him in a moment, but . . . it's not going to be good. I'm sorry."

Kaley stands ramrod-straight for a moment; like she'd been hit by lightning.

"Is he," she starts to say, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. "Is he . . . dead?"

"He's . . . alive," the doctor replies. Kaley catches his hesitation, and it floors her. She slumps against the wall, burying her head in her hands. Her entire body shakes with renewed sobs.

"Tell me what happened," Gail asks as she gently, but firmly, leads the doctor a few feet away.

"Well," the doctor starts. He looks at Kaley, and then at Gail. "We patched him up as best we could and thought we had him stabilized," he finally says, lowering his voice. "He was supposed to keep long enough for us to finish up the patient who needed a craniotomy. Except when the nurse next checked on him, he wasn't breathing. It was a stroke . . . it must've been a pulmonary embolism."

Gail nods slowly, her expression stricken.

"His prognosis?"

The doctor shakes his head. "He's only breathing because he's on a respirator. He's been completely unresponsive since that last check. No pupillary response, no response to the caloric reflex test . . . nothing. If we still had the tools to do it, I'd order a cerebral perfusion study to be sure, but," the doctor pauses, looking away, "we're pretty sure Mister Jorgensen is brain-dead." A quick, guilty glance toward Kaley. "We're only keeping him on life-support long enough to give his fiancee the chance to say goodbye."

Gail digests this. "We killed another good man tonight," she finally says, softly. "Where does this leave us on supplies," she suddenly asks. Anything to give her a moment's respite from the closing despair.

"I'll get the numbers to Simon's people by noon tomorrow. We're down to your basic meatball surgery as it is . . . we can't afford another medical catastrophe like tonight's."

Gail nods, as though something has clicked inside her head. "Doctor," she says, "I swear, when I get back to the Council, I'm going to do my best to prevent something like this from happening again." She slowly puts a hand on the doctor's shoulder, looking over at Kaley, before exhaling sharply. "Let's break the news to her, okay?"

. . . . .

Kartr enters the waiting room like an angry thundercloud. Before him sit several men in shackles. None look up at him, nor do they even seem to take notice. He fixes that, as he storms over to one of them, hauling him up from his chair by his collar.

"You sonofabitch," he says, just barely maintaining control. "Your people killed a good man tonight."

"Fuck you," the other man spits. "Your people killed far more, far better, men tonight."

Crash. The other man is thrown back into his chair.

"You think that attitude's gonna save you?" Kartr says, his lips curled up in a snarl.

"The Council's . . . gonna put you in your place," the other man replies. "You'll see."

Crack! His head rotates violently from the backhand. The two other Watchmen in the room start to move toward Kartr, but stop halfway. Instead, they choose to cross their arms over their chests and stare down at the waiting Volunteers.

"We've put up with the Council's BS for too long," Kartr replies. "The Old Man's over there right now. He's got Al Packer with him. I bet everybody's going to know what your people tried to do tonight."

"I know nothing about that," the other man says. "And since y'all murdered the other witnesses, who do you think they're gonna believe?"

"You're dead wrong. We've got four of your buddies here in the hospital . . . that's why you're here. Thought you might like to see them."

"Ain't no buddies of mine. What if I don't want to see 'em?"

The other man was dragged up from his chair again.

"You think you have a choice? C'mon, let's go."

The other seated men stand on their own. The back-talker is roughly, unapologetically, frog-marched between the two other Watchmen. It's a short trip from the waiting room to the ICU. Kartr marches right up to the attending nurse.

"Friends here for the patients."

"But we don't," the nurse starts to reply. He quickly looks at the other Watchmen, and at the men being lead into the room. He nods. "Okay, but no funny business, alright?"

"Look at me," Kartr says. "Does this look like a laughing matter to you? We're not going to harm your patients. You've got my word as a Watchman."

The nurse quickly relents and the men are lead into the room. Two of the men on their hospital beds are heavily sedated, surrounded by wires and IV lines. One, a young man with a bandaged shoulder sits up, staring into space.

"We've brought friends to see you," Kartr says.

"Carl, don't you fucking dare say anything," the back-talker says. "You got rights, man. Don't you . . . oomph," he is interrupted in mid-sentence by Kartr's fist to his gut.

"And don't you try to intimidate the witnesses," Kartr says.

"Carl," one of the shackled men, a teenager, really, says. "Oh my God, when I heard the news; I thought you weren't coming back!"

"A . . . a lot of 'em aren't," Carl manages.

"What happened to you?"

"Got shot in the chest . . . they're telling me I'll . . . be going into surgery . . . soon. I . . . never thought it'd hurt so bad."

"What happened to the others," one of the other shackled men asks. The back-talker glares at him, but remains sullenly silent.

"Shot," Carl replies. "Oh God, they . . . they had a sniper. I . . . I was lucky I didn't . . . didn't be stupid and try to get . . . get up again. Or . . . or I'd have ended up like Steven. Saw him after they took him out . . . they shot him in the throat."

"Do we really got to hear this," the back-talker says. "You fuckers think you're bad-ass, showing off . . . "

"Shut up," Kartr says, wheeling on the man. "One more word out of you, and you're going to wish you'd been on the goon squad going after Packer." He looks at the other Watchmen. "Get him out of here. I think we're gonna want to have a . . . talk with him later."

"They . . . they got the Oilman," Carl suddenly says.

"Carl," the back-talker snaps, suddenly trying to lunge away from the two Watchmen holding him. As shackled as he is, he doesn't get very far, crashing to the ground. Unimpressed, the Watchmen haul him back up, dragging him off.

"I'm sorry about that," Kartr says. "I'm sorry," he adds, "but who's the Oilman?"

Carl looks at him, and at the back of the man being dragged from the ICU.

"He's our boss," the shackled kid blurts out. "If you ever heard him talk, you'd know why we call him that."

"Ron," Carl starts to say. He half-sighs, half-moans. "He's . . . he's right."

Kartr scowls. "Boss? He wouldn't happen to be dark-haired and have a pencil-thin mustache, would he?"

Carl and the other Volunteers blink. "Yeah . . . yeah how'd you know?"

"Son of a bitch," Kartr says. "That's the asshole they got into surgery before Bill," he turns and grabs the shackled kid. "Ever met a man named Bill Jorgensen? Who lives in the Couples' District with his girl Kaley? He's the man who had to goddamn die tonight so your 'Oilman' could live."

"What a waste," another of the Volunteers suddenly says. "He's trouble, y'know? If I had to pick between saving him and . . . and Al Packer, I'd pick Packer."

"What are you doing, Jack," the last Volunteer says.

"What I should've fucking done weeks ago. You know what I'm talking about, right Carl? Right Ronnie?"

Silence. For a moment, nobody speaks. Only the sounds of medical equipment fill the void.

"Yeah," Carl says. "I . . . I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't ever . . . ever want to get caught up in this . . . shit."

"Me neither," the shackled kid, Ron, replies. "Me and Carl were carpenters before we joined the Volunteers. Our old boss says we're shitheads, but he's just a kid like me an' Carl. What the fuck does he know? He only got his job 'cuz . . . Shep owed him a favor."

"The . . . the Oilman wasn't much better," Carl adds. "He . . . he liked his job too much. I . . . I was there when we got Miles Jameson yesterday afternoon."

"Hey fuck you," the last Volunteer, a mountain of a man, says. "We had a job to do."

"You . . . you didn't have to body-slam him," Carl replies, trying to lunge forward in his bed; only to fall back with a groan.

"Are you testing my patience too," Kartr says, turning to face the giant. "You see where that got your friend, right?"

"Yeah fine, whatever," the big man says. "We had jobs to do an' orders to follow."

"I'm going to tell you this once, jarhead to shithead," Kartr replies. "That defense didn't work for the Nazis." He turns back to look at Carl.

"Who'd the 'Oilman' get his marching orders from?"

"I . . . I don't know," Ron is the first to speak. "But, I heard he was always talking to the big-shots."

"Yeah," Carl adds. "Always . . . always going to see the Chairman and . . . and the motormouth."

Kartr scowls.

"The motormouth," Jack says. "He's the Council's Oilman. Always slick and always goin' on about some damned thing or another."

"I know who you're talking about," Kartr replies, his voice dropping to a near-growl. "That's Councilor Dolsen, and we've been on that guy's trail for months," he trails off, looking suddenly thoughtful. "Okay guys, I'm gonna ask you straight up: Do you know if the 'Oilman' had a meeting with either Dolsen or the Chairman yesterday, or last night?"

The Volunteers look at each other, mentally connecting the dots.

"What's in it for us if we talk," the big man rumbles. "You boys might wanna ask the nice Watchman that before you answer."

"How many of you really think you'll still have this job next week? The way I see it, you're all up Shit Creek without a paddle," Kartr replies with a slow nod. "Let's pretend the Council stays in place . . . you think they're gonna keep the lot of you around, when you let us nasty Watchmen get the drop on you? And what's gonna happen if I go to the 'Oilman' when he wakes up from surgery, and start dropping names?"

"He was!" Carl blurts. "Jack can confirm it, and . . . and so can Riley. Said . . . he came right from a meeting with the big-shots . . . and told us we had an important assignment and . . . and that he was going to lead it himself."

Kartr turns to face Jack. "Is this true?"

"Don't know the particulars," Jack replies. "But, I can tell you I was told to make sure nobody came lookin' for him, 'cause he'd been called into an emergency meeting."

Kartr crosses his arms over his chest. "How do you guys feel about repeating everything you told me to Councilwoman Underhill . . . she's here right now with Jorgensen's widow."

"I said nothing, and I ain't about to start," the big man says. "You can drop my name all you want. He'll laugh in your face, 'cause he knows I'm good people. Riley too. I still got a job to do, and I figure being a pain in the ass of you . . . traitors is part of that."

"Your choice," Kartr replies, in a tone of voice that promised terrible things in the big man's future.

"What happens if we talk to her?" Ron asks, looking pale. "You think she can get us off?"

"It's not gonna work that way, guys," Kartr replies. "Bet you could avoid having the same thing happen to you that happened to the black marketeers last year, though; especially you, Carl."

"Martha's Vineyard beats being here," Carl says. "I . . . I just wanted to get out of a bad situation. I didn't want to . . . hurt anyone." He takes a deep breath. "I . . . I'll tell Miss Underhill everything I told you."

Now . . .

"Bill Jorgensen is dead." Everyone in the room started, then turned. Gail Underhill stood in the doorway, looking just short of dead on her feet. I looked behind her, and saw only one Watchman. Where the other one went, I couldn't tell you.

Gail continued, "We reached the hospital in time for Kaley to say goodbye." She walked into the room, but did not return to her seat. Instead, she walked over to the stage, where there was fixed podium off to one side. She began rooting around in the cabinet underneath the lectern.

"Another good man died tonight," she said, her body mostly obscured by the podium. "And an innocent young woman may have had her life ruined. That this could ever happen..." she stood, looking at Packer, then the Old Man. "I've learned some things I think the rest of you should hear. There are a couple of men from the Watch coming with more."

I frowned. Nothing had been said on the radio about this. I glanced at the Old Man, but his face was a flinty mask, betraying nothing.

"Gail," the Chairman said. "It's been a trying night for all of us. I think we can set this aside and revisit it when we've got all . . . "

"Bob," Gail snapped, her composure vanishing for a moment, "I am in no mood for your bullshit. You will shut the hell up and listen to every word I have to say."

I glanced at her. There was an edge behind those words. This was no simple rebuke between co-workers . . . no, this was something much harsher. My eyes flicked toward the Chairman. His face worked, as though he couldn't believe that he'd just been told to shut up.

"You see," Gail continued, "I have seen what you have not; dead bodies. Bodies of young men that we are supposed to protect. I knew every one of them. We all did. And I visited the survivors. One of them has just gotten out of surgery. He may live, but much remains to be seen. The other was being prepped for surgery."

"One of them was awake, and I had a chance to talk to him . . . and to a couple young men presently in custody of the Watch."

That had to have been the Volunteers the Old Man had promised we'd shuttle into the hospital. To show 'em the consequences of what they'd done.

"Please understand," Gail went on, "that what you're about to hear was not coerced or faked in any way. I had two Watchman and Doctor Haverhill with me when this recording was made, and they will be willing to testify as to its authenticity."

My eyes were on the Chairman. Whatever he was chewing on had suddenly taken on a really nasty flavor. His eyes darted off to his left . . . toward the Shark. For his part, the Shark appeared to be all rapt attention, and nothing else.

"Gail," the Chairman said.

"It will be Miss Underhill to you, Bob," Gail replied. "If you, or Mister Dolsen interrupt me one more time, I will ask the Commandant of the Watch to have you removed."

That got my attention. She didn't call him "Chairman." She called him by his name. And she'd preemptively called out the Shark as well. What did she know? What had she learned?

"Doctor Haverhill," Gail said, "was nice enough to lend me his portable recorder. The quality is quite good, as you will see."

Gail then pressed play, and sound thundered out of the speakers around the room. It was a storm of noise. Scratching and thumping. I immediately realized it was the sound of a mic being adjusted. Shortly thereafter there was silence . . . no, not silence. There was noise in the background. The beeping of what I assumed was medical equipment. I heard shuffling . . . footsteps, limbs brushing against loose clothing. There was even a faint metallic rattle which I couldn't immediately place.

"You're being recorded now," a man's voice. I frowned, was that Kartr speaking? "You understand?"

" . . . yeah . . . " the reply I heard was faint.

"Councilwoman Underhill is gonna ask you a few questions now," Kartr said. "Just answer 'em to the best of your ability. Tell her everything you told me. You got it?"

"Yeah . . . I got it," was the reply. Whoever he was, he sounded young.

"What's your name?" a female voice, Gail's, asked.

"C-C-Carl. Carl Sutter."

"And what do you do for a living?"

"V. . . Volunteer. Used . . . used to be a carpenter."

Something wasn't quite right. Like the man was in pain, and that pain was only manageable with an impressive quantity of painkillers. Just then, I looked back, and saw Packer looking at me. I frowned and looked toward the Chairman and the Shark. The Shark looked like he was chewing something sour. The Chairman, though, was looking a little more pale than he did a minute ago.

"Tell me," Gail's voice said. "Why are you in the hospital tonight?" The tone was cold, yet genial. All the same, I felt the snap to that question.

"I . . . I was hurt in an op . . . operation."

"Is that what you call it? An operation?" The geniality in Gail's voice was fading fast. I heard the quote-marks around 'operation.'

"It . . . it was to . . . arrest Mister Packer!"

I heard rustling around the room. People looked at each other, at the papers on their desks.

"Arrest? On whose authority?"

"The . . . the . . . Council, ma'am," the young man being questioned had paused for a long time, as though he were unsure how to answer Gail's question.

"The Council," Gail replied, icily, "Did no such thing. You're either mistaken, or you're a liar Mister Sutter. If you're lying to me, I promise I will see you hanged for killing the father of Kaley Richards' baby . . ."

"I . . . I swear I'm telling the truth! I . . . I didn't wanna hurt . . . nobody . . . " The voice faded into an agonized groan. "I don't want to die!"

I heard more rustling across the speaker. As though someone had tried to rush in, but was brought to a very sudden stop. I watched the Chairman and the Shark. The Shark's expression had hardened into a mask, and on that mask was etched hatred. The Chairman's brow, though, I could see just the faintest glint. The man was sweating.

"Don't worry," Gail continued, her tone suddenly becoming almost-conversational. "You won't die, not yet. They'll take very good care of you here. Better care than you deserve. I'll ask you again . . . On whose authority did you try to arrest Al Packer?"

"We . . . we thought it was the Council! I swear to God!" The voice dissolved into sobbing. I looked at Gail. She was staring straight ahead, her expression absolutely icy. It remained that way as the sobbing faded into dead air. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. The Oil . . . our leader came right . . . right from a meeting . . . from the top . . . said we had an . . . important assignment. Said he was gonna . . . lead it himself." The voice calmed down. Were it not for the stuttering, the pacing was suggestive of some little kid repeating something he'd memorized by rote.

"I think we've heard enough," the Shark said, thrusting himself up. "Stop the recording." Gail's voice was saying something, but it was hard to make out with the Shark speaking as loud as he was.

"Have you people heard the difficulty with which the young man speaks. Clearly, he is being coerced! Councilwoman Underhill, I never thought you'd stoop so low as to threaten someone into lying for . . . "

"James," Mike growled. "Shut the fuck up, fool. I don't care what you think of Gail's recording, but you're not going to interrupt it until it's goddamn done!"

"To echo my fellow Councilor's statement," another man spoke up, his speech delivered with Teutonic precision. "We are very interested in hearing the rest of this recording. Without interruption."

"Thanks, gentlemen," Gail said. "But I've got this . . . Really, Dolsen, I can't blame you for interrupting," she said. "But, this isn't the only recording I have," she said. Her lips creased upward in something that might've been a smile. "If any of you are tempted to agree with Dolsen, then maybe you'll reconsider when you've heard this next one."

She changed tapes, and I notice that she didn't even bother to ask the Chairman. Then again, the Chairman's silence was speaking volumes. As was the expression of growing horror on his face. The Shark was fuming . . . no, seething, now. I suspect it was only the two Watchmen who'd somehow appeared on either side of his table that were keeping him in-line.

More static.

"What's your name?" It was Gail's voice again.

"The name's Jack," I heard. The rest of it was obliterated in a scratching, thumping noise. Gail's voice came on after a moment, apologizing for the mic coming off. She repeated her question, and Jack repeated his name.

"I'd like to ask you some questions," Gail's voice said.

"Go right ahead."

"Do you know who Carl Sutter is?"

"Yeah, I know him. He's a good kid."

"Okay," Gail's voice replied, hesitantly. As if she wanted to say more, but was trying to hold back. "Can you confirm what he has told me?"

"Yeah, I can," Jack's voice replied. Just then, I heard a noise behind me. The door to the Council chamber creaked open, and then shut again.

"Mister Sutter tells me that his superior told him they had a 'special' assignment with the Council's blessing. Is this true?"

"If anything the Oilman says is ever really the truth, I'll eat these shackles," there was a faint jingle. "But yeah, the Oilman was called into some damned emergency meeting yesterday. Right afterwards, he was hurryin' off like someone'd lit a fire under his ass."

"That's not answering my question," Gail's voice replied. "I will repeat to you what I told Mister Sutter. The Council did not authorize any action against Al Packer. He was to be left alone."

"Now that's funny," Jack replied, after a few moments. "I figured it had to have been the Council. He'd been pulled into a private meeting by Chairman Fernandez. And whenever they hold one of their little pow-wows, that motormouth Dolsen is always there with 'em. And that was the case yesterday. If the top-dogs are signin' off on what we do, I'd think the rest of the pack was in on it as well."

"So tell me, Dolsen," Gail said. "What is that about? What are you and Fernandez hiding? I don't remember being invited to a meeting with the Volunteers. Do any of you?"

"I know I wasn't invited," Simon was the first to speak.

"And what do you think you're trying to prove," the Shark said. "Ladies and gentlemen, I admit that myself and the Chairman are especially keen to keep an eye on the activities of the Volunteers. Lest we allow our working relationship to be tainted like ours was with the Watch . . . "

"Bullshit," Packer shouted. In the blink of an eye, he was directly across the table from the Shark, leaning over to take a hold of him. The two Watchmen lunged toward him, but held back at the last moment. "I think you figured you'd take me out!" He lunged that last foot, seizing the collar of the Shark's shirt, dragging him to within an inch of his face. "What . . . thought you'd snipe me while I slept? Kill my wife?" he screamed, his lips drawn back into a primal snarl.

"Mister Packer!" The Old Man said. "Control yourself!"

Packer abruptly released the Shark, who dropped back into his chair. Packer ignored him, breathing deeply. "Except your guys fucked up. They were too hotheaded for their own good. And look what it got you." He leaned over the table again, and the Watchmen made no move to stop him. "The Watch is breathing down your neck. When the surviving Volunteers make it out of surgery, they're going to give you up to save their own skins."

The Council chamber dropped into shocked silence. Even the Shark looked rattled and pale.

"You know, he's totally right," a voice said from behind me. I looked back, and saw both Kartr and the Aussie. "Sir," Kartr said, looking at the Old Man. "Permission to approach the podium? I've got something these guys are gonna want to hear."

The Old Man nodded. "Permission granted, Kartr. Let's see what you've got."

Both men made their way up to Gail. As they passed the Shark, the Aussie looked down at him.

"You should be more careful about the help you hire, Councilman," he said. I frowned, wondering what that meant.

Kartr held out a tape to Gail. "Ma'am, we found this searching the Volunteer leader's office."

"You've been busy since we parted ways," Gail said.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

It was only then that I got a good look at Kartr. The man looked flushed, and his hair was matted. It was as if he'd run all the way over here.

"Now what . . . chicanery are you going to try no . . . " the Chairman was out of his seat, moving toward the podium. Gail turned back, fixing him in a glare.

"You, sit down, now."

"But . . . I . . . I'm the Chairman!"

"Mister Fernandez," the Old Man said with a quick nod towards me. "I suggest you listen to her, before the Constable here makes you listen."

I nodded, approaching the Chairman. I can only imagine what he must've seen . . . this battered, wild-looking man stalking him like a gunfighter out of the Old West. The way my hand automatically started to drift for my gun. We locked eyes; dead-eyes staring into a pair of terrified ones that darted back and forth. The Chairman stopped, dead in his tracks, stumbling backward towards his chair.

"Thank you, Mister Fernandez," the Old Man said. "If you would, Gail."

Gail nodded once, reaching out for the button . . .

"First thing I'd like to say is . . . what the fuck?" That, ladies and gentlemen, was clearly the Shark's voice.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Don't fucking play innocent with me. You assholes knew. You knew for hours. Why the hell is he still free?"

"He's at the hospital, sir. With his wife."

"Wife . . . . wife?" A deep breath. "You mean to tell me there's a fucking native running loose on the island?"

"They're married, sir. She's carrying his child."

"Oh, that's just rich."

The Shark's voice calmed. "Clearly, Packer has been living it up on the mainland. Telling the people there . . . God knows what sort of lies. Taking advantage of their women. And now he returns." There was a deep breath. "At a time when we can ill-afford distractions. I wonder . . . there's a song that's been going around, about a man going to the mainland to meet Packer. Now I wonder if there's some truth to it?"

The men and women in the Council chamber listened, by God. They heard the Shark berate the hapless Watchman for another minute. And then a different voice had come one . . . a voice I knew I'd recognize to my dyin' day. The voice of the man who, were it not for Dennis, would've beat my brains out in the Couples' District this last night.

They heard the Shark order the man to do terrible things to whoever was in on Packer's return to the island.

They heard the last chuckle, and it sounded none too pleasant.

"I got it, man. They'll get what's comin' to them."

The static fades, but comes back, even stronger. And then, suddenly . . .

Slam!

"Just what in God's name do you think you're doing, James," the Chairman's voice thundered into the room, sounding distinctly aggrieved.

"You're making us out to be a bunch of bigoted, ignorant savages! Of all the people in that room, Packer's Stone Age wife was the most civilized." A deep breath. "Because we're friends, and because I'd like to believe you know what you're doing, I'm going to give you the chance to explain yourself . . . You're on shaky ground, though, I hope you know that!"

"First," the Shark's voice replied, "calm down. This is what Packer wants. Friend against fr . . . "

He was harshly cut off by the Chairman. The argument went back and forth. My eyes swept across the Council chamber. Many of the slack-jawed faces I saw had looks of growing horror on them. Those who weren't slack-jawed, looked thoughtful . . . very, very thoughtful. I glanced over at Packer. I saw his knuckles were white, where he gripped his spear. His face was flushed and livid. I could almost hear him grit his teeth when the Shark's voice speculated that Nara had suffered from Stockholm's Syndrome. Suddenly, his head snapped to the side. I blinked, seeing the Old Man had taken hold of his arm, and was slowly shaking his head.

"No need to tell me, the Chairman's voice said. "Go to your office and get those papers. I believe I can soothe the ruffled feathers of our fence-sitters, but I'd like something more to hit them over the head with. But . . . what are we going to do about Packer?"

There was a long pause. It wasn't a silent one, for some of the Councilors were muttering to themselves, wearing equally sour expressions.

"There is one option, but we would have to move fast."

"What do you mean?" The Chairman's voice asked. That caused me to glance at the Chairman. For a large man, he had managed to shrink deep in his chair. All the color had left him, and it was only his darting eyes that suggested the man still lived.

"You don't mean the Volunteers, do you?"

"I do mean the Volunteers," the Shark's voice replied. "The Watch hasn't been trustworthy in months, and they would hesitate in doing what needs to be done, regardless."

"They're very rough men. They could hurt Nara."

"I'm firmly convinced they can have it impressed upon them that Nara isn't to be harmed. Just because they work for the Council does not exclude them from the hangman's noose. They got Miles Jameson without hurting anyone else, after all."

"I note you didn't say the same for Miles Jameson. I don't like what I saw in those witness reports."

"Jameson isn't a confessed murderer, didn't have a spear, and he never punched a hole in a wall either."

"Point," the Chairman's voice replied. For nearly a minute, there was nothing but static. I started to wonder if, perhaps, the recording had run out.

"Very well," the Chairman's voice made me jump. "Do what you need to do. And, by God, try to be careful."

There was more silence on tape. The muttering had grown, as had the glances, and the ripples of anger and hatred that crossed the faces of more, and more Councilors.

"Did you catch that?"

"Yes," the Volunteer leader's voice replied, the oily quality undiminished by the room's speakers. "I assume you'll be wanting me to come meet you?"

"Yes," the Shark's voice replied. "I expect we'll meet in Bob's office."

"I'll be there."

The recording faded into silence once more.

"Stop the tape," the Old Man said. He looked at the Shark and the Chairman. "Gentlemen, I've heard enough. I've heard enough to justify removing yourself and Mister Fernandez from the Council floor."

I looked at the Shark and the Chairman both. The Chairman looked stricken and pale. The Shark though, his expression never changed. That barely-contained rage seemed unimpressed with what the man was now facing. The rest of the Council, however, sat in stunned silence.

"James," Simon hissed. "You murderous idiot!"

He's the first to speak, and it's enough to get the rest going. Councilmen and Councilwomen looked at each other, looked at Gail and Kartr, looked at the Old Man, looked at the rest of the Watchmen, and looked around the room. They were trapped, and they knew it. There could be but one way out for them.

"Get them out of here," Mike snarls. "Commandant, get those two out of here!"

"Watchmen," the Old Man replies, after several moments. "Do your duty."

"With pleasure," Kartr says. Already, the Watchmen have taken hold of Fernandez the, now, ex-Chairman. To be fair, I don't think the man could've resisted. Nor did I think he wanted to. He just spreads out his palms and shakes his head, even as the Watchmen grab hold of him and wrench his arms behind his back.

A Watchman moves to grab James and just barely gets a hold of his hand before . . .

"No!" James screams, throwing his jacket open. I catch the maniacal, focused hatred in the man's face, as I suddenly find myself ducking, as if I knew what was coming next. Only it never does.

Thwack! . . . Crash!

I hear someone scream at the sudden, violent, movement. Kartr had grabbed James from behind, and with a single, abrupt motion, thrown him down onto the table. Papers, pens, and glasses go flying; as does a single phosphate-gray M1911A1 pistol. I hear a collective gasp as the gun flies through the air and clatters to the ground. I abort the lunge for my own gun mid-step, diving for the ground, scooping up the Shark's gun.

Very quickly, with trembling hands steadied only through years of practice, I drop the magazine and eject the single, fat, .45 cartridge in the chamber. Having safed the weapon, I thrust it into one of the pockets of my coat. Only then, do I notice what the others in the Council chamber had. In the wall behind where the Shark's head once was, a hatchet was buried more than halfway.

I glance behind me and I see Packer, his body thrust forward, his feet firmly planted. He slowly straightens his body, the expression on his face nearly as shocked as mine. I can't say what shocked him, whether it was because he'd aimed for the Shark's head and missed, or because he wasn't aiming for the Shark's head and pulled off just the shot he wanted. Behind him, Nara slips past several Watchmen. She picks up Packer's spear and tosses it at him. He catches it, and smiles at her.

"Nice throw," the Old Man remarks. That seems to stir the room out of its shock.

"C'mon asshole, let's go," Kartr says, yanking James up from the table. The Shark's lips are bloodied, and his eyes adrift. He is too dazed to go screaming in defiance. It may come later, but for the moment, the Council again sits in stunned silence as he and Fernandez are lead away. At that moment, I don't know who to be more in awe of. Packer, for winning a quick-draw contest with a hand-axe, or Kartr for seizing the opportunity.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Old Man says, his words ringing out into the silence. "It's your move."

More silence.

"I believe I speak for the women of Point Breeze when I say we accept Toby and Alferd's conditions. All of them."

That was Gail. Suddenly, all eyes were on her.

"Surely," someone finally managed, "you don't mean that, do you?"

"I mean it," Gail says. "The Council's broken. The Council's been broken since we voted to exile Alferd to the mainland." Suddenly, her eyes are on Packer's. "Let me be the first to apologize to you for the way Nantucket's treated you. If you're still willing, I'm sure the women of Point Breeze would love to attend your cultural and language classes."

I felt razor-winged butterflies in my stomach. That was a huge defection. Part of me begged Haruhi and Q to tell me Gail Underhill wasn't serious. That she didn't just offer to let all of Nantucket's unmarried women go to the mainland.

"Commandant," Gail continues. "In the meantime, can we count on the Watch to continue to assure the safety of Point Breeze . . . of all of Nantucket's women?" I saw that glance back at Nara.

The Old Man nodded. "Miss Underhill, you have my word. The Watch will make the safety of Nantucket's women its top priority."

"Thank you, Toby," Gail replies.

"And I think I speak for the married couples here, and the rest of the Engineers, when I agree that the Council is done," Mike is the next to speak. "I've made some votes here that I'm not proud of. I'm sure we've all made votes here that we aren't proud of. I too, vote that we dissolve the Council."

"Fucking aye!" Someone shouts. There's a general chorus of agreement. My eyes are on the men who took the fall of James with thoughtful silence. They were all still thoughtfully silent. It was better than protesting the flow of things, but not by much.

"Wait," Gail said. "I have one more thing to ask, before we vote."

"What is it?" Mike said.

"It occurs to me," Gail replies, with a very faint smile, "we need a Chair to have a proper vote. Moreover," she added, "we need someone to head the transition. Someone . . . who just happens to know where everything is."

I looked over to Simon. The look on his face was priceless. If he was capable of talking at that moment, I suspect he'd have been saying something like "Don't you dare . . . " He starts to raise a finger, as if to protest; but it's far too little, too late.

"I hereby nominate Simon to replace Mister Fernandez as Chairman of the Council."

"You'll find no objection here," another Councilor replied. "I second the motion."

"Would anyone like to object?"

The silence was deafening. Gail picked up the gavel, looked it over, and then extended it out towards Simon.

"Chairman," she said, "the floor is yours."

"Ahh," Simon replied, eyes wide. "I . . . uhh . . . okay," he said, crossing the floor to take the gavel from Gail's hand. "I . . . um . . . have the floor." Tentatively, he slipped behind the podium, looking out over the expectant gazes of his fellow Councilors. "I . . . apologize for not having any notes prepared for this sort of occasion; so I propose we get right down to business. First up for vote, our voluntary abdication from power. Unless anyone objects, I think a simple voice vote will do," he said, looking around the room once more. Finally, he took a deep breath. "Okay, then. All those in favor?"

"Aye!"

[The Vortex Empire]

Damn, so it was the Shark and the Chairman. Didn't really see that coming. So the charter has finally passed, and that damn conspiracy is gone. I think.

[Dave]

So the charter has finally passed

They only voted a new chairman and to abdicate their power. No charter to be seen.

Next step would probably be to create committees to (1) prepare a new charter (possibly borrowing a lot from Packer's) and (2) figure out how to arrange all the regular people to vote on their suggested charter and/or open the floor for nominations.

At least, that's what I would suggest.

[The Vortex Empire]

"I believe I speak for the women of Point Breeze when I say we accept Toby and Alferd's conditions. All of them."

I had interpreted that as including the charter, but re-reading it you're right.

Still, some form of the charter is as good as passed now.

[Simon_Jester]

Let me just disclaim that I had no hand in the process by which I was appointed extremely temporary head of state.

Gail... [wanders off grumbling]

[Alferd Packer]

Day 362, Dawn, Nantucket

Packer stepped out into the cool air of the Nantucket morning, the eastern sky afire with the impending dawn, which was perhaps a half hour off. Nara was at his side, holding his hand. Around them, Watchmen buzzed with activity, but the mood was different than when they'd rolled up just a few hours ago. Crown Vics were pulling away, presumably to go keep the peace and, more importantly, deliver the written Order of Abdication to the entire island.

Rather than keep things a secret, the former Councilors decided to come clean as completely as was possible in a single sheet of paper. Along with their Order was their promise to have a governing document ready for public ratification by Arrival Day, with elections to follow a week or so after that.

Packer was satisfied. He thought that this had the best chance of keeping Nantucket stable, but it was by no means a sure bet. So many things could go wrong between now and the elections. As he'd left, he'd overheard a group of Watchmen discussing how several Volunteers were still at large. And while the Couples' District had indeed calmed down, who would know what morning proper might bring?

Still, he'd done his part. He even wrote up his statement on one of the Councilor's laptops, which, of course, Nara found fascinating. Wherever they wound up living for the winter, he'd have to scrounge up a computer for her, for sure. There were plenty of computers to be had, after all--as long as there was electricity, computers would work.

At any rate, he used his statement to beg for calm, and it went, unedited, out along with the Order of Abdication. Packer was confident the right people would see it.

Packer and Nara crossed the street to a gasified Ford Econoline van. The gasifier was mounted to a custom frame in front of the grille, because there was no trunk on the van. In in the driver's seat sat a Watchman, who gave a little wave of acknowledgement to Packer as he and Nara climbed in.

"Hey, Mister Packer," he said. "Missus Packer. Normally, this is one of the preggo vans, but we commandeered it for the night. You guys are going to the hospital, right?"

"That's correct," Packer said blandly. Nominally, he was going to the hospital to get his ear fixed, but...

The van started off. Nara snuggled into the crook of Packer's arm, munching happily on a blueberry cornmeal muffin that someone had scrounged up. Packer couldn't manage more than a bite or two, not when he knew what loomed ahead. He was still having trouble grasping how rapidly things changed. It couldn't have been more than a few hours ago that he was sleeping soundly. Was this all a dream? Part of him hoped so.

Too rapidly, they were at the hospital. Packer got worked on in the ER, which, fortunately, was no longer full; the Volunteers and Watchmen had been either treated and released or moved to appropriate parts of the hospital. His ear got stitched (which, thanks to a lack of topical numbing agents, hurt way worse than getting it split open), a few scrapes were cleaned out with denatured alcohol and bandaged, and in fifteen minutes, he was on his way.

Of course, he and Nara had nowhere to go. The Old Man wanted them to stay in the hospital for at least the next day, and Packer had to agree. Enough shit had been stirred up that even just being somewhere could cause people to react badly. So, Packer would have to seek out Doctor Haverhill and beg for a bed again, or something like that. Exhaustion was enveloping him, like a warm blanket, inviting him to come and sleep.

But there was something he had to do first.

The morgue was in the basement, or perhaps on the ground floor in the particular wing it occupied. Packer pushed open the omni-hinged, stainless steel doors, Nara following close behind. The door leading to the morgue was a stretch down the hallway. Doctor Reynolds and a tall girl Packer had never met before stood in front of it, talking in low tones. They stopped and stared at Packer and Nara as they approached. The tall girl introduced herself as Hannah Montross, Kaley's former roomate, and Packer introduced himself and Nara.

"I'm here because Kaley's going to be coming back to Point Breeze," Hannah explained after exchanging greetings. "Before she left, Gail had sent for me. Kaley's in there now," Hannah nodded to the morgue entrance. "She wants to be with him as long as she can. Before they start the autopsy."

Packer's heart was twisting itself in knots. "How is she?" he asked in a choked whisper.

Hannah looked at Doctor Reynolds. "She's not crying anymore, but...I just don't know. I think she'll be OK once we get her back to Point Breeze. She's...well, she's drained. Completely drained."

"Unfortunately," Doctor Reynolds added, "I want to avoid sedating her if at all possible. As you can imagine, all this stress is not good for the fetus, and to avoid complicating matters with drugs, the best thing we can do is get her home and make her comfortable." She gave Packer a look. "I doubt I could stop you from going in there, but please, keep it brief. She's barely hanging on as it is."

Packer swallowed a lump in his throat. "I know. I just...Bill Jorgensen saved my life. Both our lives, and Kaley's. The Old Man's keeping us cooped up here for the next day or two, so I'm going to miss the funeral. I feel like...I have to pay my final respects to the man."

Doctor Reynolds nodded and stepped aside to allow Packer to pass. To Nara, he said, "Stay here." She nodded, mouth set in a tight, grim, line. He took a deep breath, then entered the morgue.

The room was cool, of course, but it smelled antiseptic; it made Packer's head swim a bit. Aside from the expected stainless steel apparatus sprinkled around the room, it felt bare, almost desolate.

Bill Jorgensen's body lay, covered with a sheet, on some sort of examination table in the center of the room. Just outside the direct glare of the overhead lamps, perched on a nearby stool, sat Kaley. She wasn't crying, or speaking. She was staring. Staring at Bill's body, hunched over like The Thinker, and wearing an expression of dazed confusion. Packer clenched his jaw and walked over to her.

He didn't know what the hell to say. Everything that went through his mind had to be rejected as pointless. She wouldn't care that Bill's sacrifice allowed him and the Old Man to set Nantucket on a more stable path. She wouldn't care how Packer would tell his daughter, and any other children he might wind up having, that they probably owed their existence to Bill's courage. Everything paled against the fact that the man she loved was dead. How could anything he might say stack up against that?

"I said I was going to marry him," Kaley said suddenly. Packer jumped a little; he hadn't even thought that Kaley'd noticed him. "And I meant it. I knew I wanted to marry him since August. I waited because, well, I wanted you to come back and marry us. To make it significant. To make it matter." She added, tonelessly, "I shouldn't have waited. Stupid."

Packer found himself trembling, nearly immobilized. He did manage to get around the exam table to Kaley's side, but before he could say anything, she went on. "When we first got here...you know, like the first month or so, I remember Gail telling me that, unfortunately, it was now a man's world, so every girl at Point Breeze needed to find a good one. That's why I was interested in you, initially." She looked up at him. "I remembered watching you and your guys install the gasifier. How everyone called you 'boss.' How you were joking around, but definitely still in charge. But, that wasn't meant to be. And then that other guy..."

Packer almost said that the Shark would be soon regretting the day he ever crossed paths with Kaley or himself, but he quickly realized that that wasn't going to bring her any comfort, so he kept mum. She continued, "I think the subtext of Gail's advice was to also choose powerful men. Like you, like...James. But I realized I'd rather be with the lowliest man on the island--so long as he was a good man--than be with an high-ranking jerk." She looked at him for a second. "Not that you're a jerk, but..."

She returned to her earlier pose, elbows on her knees, chin held in the palms of her hands. "Bill is...Bill was...the sweetest, kindest man I've ever met. Ever. He spent the summer at hard labor, and every day afterwards, even though he was exhausted, he'd clean up and come visit me. He'd bring me flowers, or some sort of trinket he'd bartered for or picked up from the community glom. He'd tell me about his day with such vividness, to try to make me forget that I was cooped up in Point Breeze. Just the sight of him made my heart flutter. And then, when I found out I was pregnant, I was so happy!"

She gave a kind of choked laugh. "Sometimes it amazes me. I'm only twenty years old. A year ago, it would've been a goddamn disaster if I had gotten pregnant. But I can't believe how satisfying it was to know I was carrying his kid. Something...someone that we made together. It's going to be a person, Packer."

Packer found that his lips were quivering. He could feel something welling up inside him, and it seemed to press against his diaphragm; speech no longer seemed to be possible. So, in this peculiar paralysis, he simply listened.

"A person," Kaley went on. She sat up, rubbing her baby bump for a moment. "We had our whole lives ahead of us. All figured out." She ticked off the items on her fingers as she spoke. "We were gonna live at that place for a few years, then we'd move out to a house closer to the Bartlett Farm. We were going to shoot for four or five kids. I was going to learn all about farming, and eventually, we'd have our own homestead out on the mainland. Bill wanted to raise dairy cattle--he said that's what his grandpa did. God, the thought of it was just...wonderful. A hard life, but a simple one. An honest one. God, I wanted that so bad. I still do."

She looked up at Packer, that blank, vaguely puzzled look on her face. "But now, he's dead and I'm lost. I just...I don't know what to do. It was all figured out, and now...now what? I'm five months pregnant, all on my own, and my whole life is a giant question mark. And," she added, eye's boring terribly into Packer's, "my child will never know its father."

There was no accusation in her tone, no rebuke. It was the simple, honest, horrible truth. Packer felt like puking. This is a dream, he told himself. It's a dream and you'll wake up and Bill will be fine...

She stood suddenly and decisively, peeling back the sheet covering Bill to reveal his face. His still face, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. A small crust of adhesive lingered near his mouth from where the ventilator must have been. Packer wanted to scream. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Love you," she whispered. "Miss you. My sweet Farm Boy."

Kaley then stood up straight, let loose an immense sigh, and turned. She seemed to expect Packer to say something, but he couldn't. The growing wave inside him was overwhelming now, and it was about to break. The fear of dying, the act of a killing a man, of gambling with the entire future of Nantucket, the guilt of surviving when Bill did not...it was all too much. The wave broke over him with an explosive sob, and he reeled suddenly.

Like a drowning man, he reached and grabbed her hands, hanging on for dear life. Tears streamed down his face, making his vision blurry. His legs went rubbery, and he sank to his knees.

"I'm sorry!" he whispered; he wanted to say so much more, but that was all he could manage. It was his simple mantra, blurted without thought, simply a manifestation of the emotions that were ripping him apart. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

He didn't know how long he did that before it simply gave way to sobbing. Also, he didn't know how long it was before Kaley left him, but at some point, he found himself curled up, alone, crying blamelessly on the floor of the morgue. He passed some time like this, before he felt Nara's hands on his shoulders. She helped him struggle up into a sitting position, then simply held him and let him cry himself out.

She said, "You weep for Bill?"

He sniffled, then said, "Yes, but not entirely. I hurt Kaley. She lost her man because of me. I'm a bad friend. I'm a bad man..."

"No!" she said sternly. She held Packer by the shoulders and forced him to look at her. "You did not take Bill away. The bad men did. They wanted to kill us all. You and Bill stopped them. Your friends stopped them. They are all good men. You are a good man, my husband."

She let him get a few more sobs out, then she helped him to his feet. They exited the morgue, where Doctor Reynolds was waiting. She guided them through the corridors of the hospital, to a room filled with cots. And there, exhaustion took its toll, and Packer fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Day 362, Afternoon, Nantucket

When Packer woke up, he didn't know where he was, or where Nara was. Then he remembered: he was in the hospital, sleeping in the doctor's lounge.

He sat up, groggy. Next to him, Nara was still asleep. Outside, in the hallway, he heard nothing more than typical hospital noises: low-volume chatter, purposeful, but not hurried, footsteps, the occasional cart clattering by. Nothing suggested that the island had erupted while they'd been sleeping.

But then again, it wasn't a sure thing that there'd be trouble, anyway. Packer had written his statement, which had been attached to the Council's Order of Abdication. That had gone to the printing press, and there were copies posted everywhere. There were even some at the front door of the hospital, and Packer had taken one as a souvenir when they had first come in. He found it now, on the table next to the cot. Even though the lights were off in the room, sunlight was streaming in from the windows, so Packer could read what he'd written easily:

Yes, I'm back. I brought my wife back with me. Some of you have probably seen her. You may have also heard that she's carrying my child. That's true, as well.

There's probably a lot of confusion as to what I've been up to the last two days. It's as simple as this: we came to Nantucket and went to the hospital. We spent the night, and I then met with the Council. I did two things there: brokered peace between the Council and the Machinists, and proposed a program by which you Nantucketers can begin integrating yourselves with the people on the mainland. My overtures were not well-received by some on the Council.

Later that night, those elements of the Council sent armed men to kill me. I fought back, as any man defending his family would do, but the odds ran against me. I was nearly murdered, but the Night's Watch saved my life.

Because of this attempt to murder not only me, as though I were some cthonic demon, but also a young couple who opened their home to my wife and myself, the Council is no more. Thankfully, the Council has voluntarily abdicated, and, insodoing, will confine their activities to the drafting of a governing document--the Charter which I so arduously championed just a few short months ago.

This document, however, is not for me. I came back from the mainland a changed man. My only concern now is integration. My aim: to ensure the long-term prosperity of both Nantucket and the native people who have accepted me as one of their own.

In that respect, I say this: if you ever counted me as your friend or found yourself owing me a favor, be calm. Do not take this abdication as incentive to cause trouble. Do this, and I'll consider the favor repaid, the friendship fulfilled. Allow the abdicated Council time to complete their last work. It will only take them a few days.

The fate of Nantucket--your future--will then be in your hands.

As for me, you'll be seeing me and my wife around town. If you'd like to, please say hello. We've got a whole lot of catching up to do.

-Alferd Packer

Packer set the sheet down, then used the bathroom. When he was finished, Nara was sitting up, looking across the room and, presumably, out the window.

"It's a nice day," she said in creole. Then, sounding a bit annoyed. "I would like to be out there. To see the rest of the island. There are so many people here!"

"Soon," Packer said. "We must first stay here. Then, we must find a new house. Then we can see the entire island." He came up behind her and slid an arm around her stomach. Yup, definitely a kid in there, he thought. "Well, when our daughter gets too big, you'll want to walk less."

Nara shrugged. "Perhaps. I think my feet are getting bigger already, though." She wiggled her toes inside her moccasins. "They feel tighter than I remember."

Packer smiled. "Are you hungry?"

Nara grinned back. "We are."

They left the doctor's lounge and headed towards the cafeteria. The hospital staff, by and large, greeted them kindly as they went about their business.

"It is quiet here," Packer said. "No trouble."

"Of course," Nara replied. "Life goes on."

Packer stopped and looked at her. "How do you mean?"

"I have had much time watch my tribe. To watch the people." She faced him. "People do not fight unless they must. And they must fight only when there is great danger. What you did last night with To-bee," Packer smiled inwardly at this, "does not put them in great danger. You made the Council stop doing bad things. What is dangerous about that?"

"Well," Packer said, "some people may thing that the bad things the Council did are actually good things. So they might fight?"

"Why? They sent people to kill you. To kill us."

Packer shrugged. "Some people do not like me. They would not think that my death is bad. Also, some people are treated better by the Council. Without the Council, they lose their privileges. Or they think they will."

Nara frowned. "So much conflict. Is this what you must endure to have all these things? To have cars? Hospitals?"

Packer considered it. "Actually, yes. You need many people in one place to do these things. More people, more conflict."

Nara started walking again. "Well, perhaps it will be fine, anyway. It must take much work to make a car, or a house. That cannot simply stop, right?"

Packer smiled. "You're right. Those things must go on. Life must go on." I hope.

The cafeteria was somewhat busy, but Packer and Nara managed to get a meal and a table to themselves. The meal was some kind of venison stew, which Packer gobbled down like a starving man. He only realized halfway through the meal that it had been almost twenty hours since his last real food.

When they were done, Packer said with a smile, "Let's go see Miles."

Day 362, Afternoon, Nantucket

Miles Jameson was asleep when they entered his room, snoring. He was snoring because his nose was swollen from an obvious break, and he had two black eyes to go along with it. The fingers on his right hand, Packer noted, were splinted. Aside from a fat lip and a few lumps around his hairline, he seemed more or less in one piece. Hopefully he hadn't lost any teeth.

Nara squeaked when she saw him and started tearing up immediately. Because of this, Miles stirred.

"Oh, you here to give me my sponge--" his eyes now open, he kind of jolted in place. "Oh, hi guys," he went on weakly. "What's up?"

Nara trembled a bit, and rushed forward, throwing her arms around his neck with both care and zeal. "Miles!" she sobbed. "I am sorry you were hurt!"

Still a bit bewildered, but rapidly coming to, he looked at Packer with a questioning panic in his eyes. Packer shrugged; Miles draped a free arm across her shoulders. "Well, uh, it's OK, Nara," he said, attempting to be soothing. "It's nothing you did. And I'm just a little banged up, is all. The doctor said I can go home later today."

She released Miles, but then held him gently by his shoulders. "Are you sure you are okay?" she asked, studying his busted-up face.

He grinned, revealing a gap in his teeth that Packer hadn't noticed before. "I'm sure. It takes more than a few thugs to put Miles Jameson down for good. Don't worry, Nara."

Nara studied him for a moment longer, while Packer watched with folded arms. Miles, now looking a touch worried, added, "The doctors here are very good. They know what they're talking about, right? If they say I'll be OK, I'll be OK."

This seemed to sit well enough with her. "Yes, that is true. The doctors are very good." She let go of Miles and came back to Packer's side. "I am still sorry that you were hurt," she said. "We both are."

Miles gave a happy shrug. "Risk is part of the game. I knew that it was possible that I would get hurt helping you. But it was important." Tears suddenly brimmed in his eyes, and he choked off, "I like you guys."

Nara's hand found Packer's and squeezed it. "The feeling's mutual, hoss," Packer said thickly. "For what it's worth, you didn't get pounded on in vain. I think I've gotten us back on the right track."

"You had something to do with the Order of Abdication?"

"I played my part. I'm backing the Watch and their...Turkish Solution. Gonna plead for calm."

"And you made sure I was taken care of after they nicked me?"

Packer shook his head. "I tried. The Old Man balked. But Nara convinced him. She's the reason you're not rotting in the drunk tank right now."

Miles' head turned. "Wow," he said, "you're the best, Nara. Thank you."

"You are my friend," Nara replied. "I must help if I can."

Miles nodded, then said, "Take a seat, guys. Sit with me for a bit. You're the only visitors I've had so far." They sat down. "So, tell me the story. What have you guys done since I left you?"

Packer did most of the talking, though Nara corrected him on a few points, and added her own recollections. What seemed to strike Miles the most was Bill's death. "Man, that's so...random. Why'd he die?"

Packer shrugged, trying to come off as aloof and indifferent, even though it hurt like hell to even say Bill's name. "We might never know. They were gonna do an autopsy, but who knows if that'll tell us anything?"

"Hmm." Miles said. "So many deaths. I thought we were past this; I really did. It's like the Long Winter all over again."

"I think this is going to be it. You saw my statement. I think our guys will keep calm. If Jason's got any sense, he'll keep the shop closed today and tell everyone to stay home. Hopefully, the other side will back down, too. We'll see."

"That we will," Miles mused. "So, Nara, how do you like Nantucket?"

She gave it a moment's thought. "It is very strange. But I think I see why it must be so. There are many people here. Many different...opinions?" She looked at Packer, and he nodded. "So you have more things, like these houses, and cars, and metal...but you also have many opinions. It is very complicated."

Miles smiled. "That it is, Nara. Did you find anything out when you first came to the hospital?"

She perked up. "Yes. The doctor said I am healthy, and so is the baby. And we...saw her."

Miles' smile grew. "Her? You're having a girl?"

"Yes." Nara's smile was just as big as Miles'. "We saw the...ulchasown."

"Ultrasound," Packer said, carefully enunciating the word. He added. "Yeah, both mom and baby are doing fine."

"Oh, that's terrific to hear," Miles said. "I'm so happy for you guys."

"Thank you," Nara said with a grin. She looked up at Packer. "I have to go."

"Oh," Packer said, dully at first. Then, "Oh!" He looked around.

"Restroom is down the hall," Miles said, pointing. Nara gave him a final smile, then headed out.

When the door was shut, Packer slid his chair closer. "How bad?" he asked simply.

Miles sighed. "Two broken fingers, four broken toes, broken nose, and last night I shit out the tooth I lost. Other than that, though..."

Packer smiled, but only for the briefest of moments. "Fuck, I'm sorry, man..."

"My fault," Miles said. "I should've stuck to the plan. Gone back to the Vineyard. Instead, I decided to debark at the other end of the harbor and help spread the word. It's a small wonder I made it as far as I did, bar-hopping. But, I will live. I'm down an incisor, but I will live."

Silence. Then Miles said, "So, what's up with Nara? I mean, I didn't think she'd be this bent out of shape..."

"Oh! Well, it's kind of a long story. Nara didn't want me to tell you initially, but there's no reason not to." Packer crossed his legs. "So, before I got sent out, before all this, Nara was married, right? She was, oh...fifteen or so. Well, it didn't last very long, as her husband died trying to take down a bear."

"A widow at fifteen," Miles breathed.

"Yeah. Well, I don't know the full details of the whole thing, but somehow, a rumor got started. That Nara was some kind of...witch, I guess you could say. There's really no equivalent translation of the concept, but that's pretty close. Maybe it's because Nara's has a good bit of innate intelligence; maybe someone was bored and decided to liven things up. Anyway, this rumor makes Nara an outcast. She's a stranger in her own village."

"Aw, hell," Miles frowned. "Poor girl."

"Indeed," Packer said with a nod. "Now, you remember The Way, right?" Miles nodded. "So, The Way says, among other things, that when a woman is married, she belongs to her husband's family. And there she stays, even if she's a widow. She can't leave the family unless she marries someone else. But with the rumor floating around that she's a witch, no man wants her. It doesn't matter that she's smart and pretty; she's persona non-grata. Now, the same Way that causes her all this misery also prevents her from being, say, kicked out of the village. So she's basically a ghost; a shadow. The girls her age want nothing to do with her, and the men won't even look at her. They're not cruel, they just...she's not really there. Only her family--her biological one, that is--still love her. And they do love her. Her brother, her aunt, her father...they all support her and take care of her. I think it's the only reason she's not seriously messed up.

"Well, fast-forward to me. I show up; I'm an outsider. I don't know my ass from my elbow, when it comes to Nara's position in the tribe. I win her heart, we get married, and boom! Just like that, all her imagined witchhood vanishes. She's one of the gang again. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

Packer sighed. "Well, consider it. The local witch marries the weird white giant. Now, The Way says you're supposed to start with a blank slate when you get married, but in reality, those ideas are hard to let go. So yes, she now is back in the social circle with her peers, but there's still that bit of distrust, that incredulity. It's better, but it's not really good yet, you dig?"

"I hear you," Miles said.

"So, fast-forward another few months. You and Kevin show up. Now, Nara wasn't kidding when she would brag about me to her friends. Sexually, that is. Between you and me, I wasn't doing anything that fantastic. I just made sure she got off every time. But hey, it's something to be proud of in our tribe--that is, to have a partner who satisfies you.

"Normally, a man's sexual prowess is somewhat well-known among the tribe. Like I told you and Kevin, everyone starts having sex around fourteen, so if a woman gushes about her husband, one of the other women can usually confirm what she's saying, because she's fucked him at some point in the past, as well. That, of course, wasn't the case with me."

"So," Miles finished, "when she bragged about you, there was no independent verification."

"Exactly!" Packer confirmed. "And so, they took her reports with a grain of salt. 'Yeah, suurrrre he eats you out every night, Nara!' " Miles laughed weakly, and Packer grinned. "She didn't really mind it, of course, because it was still much better than being ignored, but...

"So you and Kevin are there," Packer went on. "So now, her peers can see for themselves what's what with these white giants. And Miles, let me tell you something. That girl you were with? Yerna? You blew her fucking mind, my friend."

Miles beamed and blushed all at once. "We did have a lot of fun."

"That you did," Packer said. "And, insodoing, you helped Nara in a way you couldn't have imagined. Hell, I didn't have a clue until Nara told me a few hours ago. You allowed the other girl, Yerna, to verify what Nara was saying. They started to believe her. And, bit by bit, she was able to gain the trust of her peers."

"Huh," Miles said. "So that's why she likes me?"

"Well, that's a big part of it. She also likes you because you're a nice guy, and you brought us to Nantucket." Packer shifted in the chair. "But yeah, you're way up there in her book."

"I guess Kevin's encounter didn't hurt anything," Miles said.

"I guess not," Packer replied. "If anything, it confirmed that yes, while we white men can be spectacular cunnilinguists, they can also be awkward. In a way, it showed them that we're pretty much the same as the men they're used to. But, to Nara's end, you helped her more than you can know. She's a good woman to have on your side, too. When she backs me up, I fuckin' feel like I can do anything."

Miles grinned. "I hope you tell you her that."

Packer smiled back. "I do. Now, remember how you said you wanted to come back with us next spring? Consider it done. You're in. Yerna didn't stop talking about you when you left; if someone hasn't snatched her up over the winter, I'd say you'd find her waiting for you next spring."

"Oh yeah?" Miles was unable to keep the exuberance out of his voice.

"Scout's honor," Packer replied. "And if not, hell, she bragged about you to the whole village. Someone else is gonna want to take your tongue for a spin."

Miles burst into laughter, then winced. "Ow, fuck! Man, you can't make me laugh like that. I feel like something's gonna pop in there."

Packer chuckled. "Sorry, dude." He looked behind him. "Wonder where Nara got off to?"

"Don't stick around on my account," Miles said. "I'm just twiddlin' my crank here."

"You sure?" Packer found a scrap of paper and a pen. "Here, write down your address. Nara wants to visit you once all this settles down. I think she wants to tutor you specially, to make sure you can speak well when you get back."

"Right on," Miles said, scribbling on the paper with his left-hand. Ah, a fellow southpaw, Packer noted. Then, "Man, she sure is a sweetheart. Count yourself lucky, Packer."

"I do," he replied earnestly. "Feel better, buddy."

Miles waved his bad hand. "Doing my best. OK, go on. And send in a nurse, will ya? I really want that sponge bath."

Packer stood. "I'll find the biggest, hairiest male nurse out there."

Miles grinned. "Fuck you."

Packer waved, then turned. "See you around."

[Kartr_Kana]

Wow! I can't believe I didn't check on this story sooner! So is that it? We can now get a hopeful future started or are you guys going to keep going, "Dolson Strikes Back" followed by "Return of the Giant" and all of that?

Terwynn thanks for making me such a badass!! I didn't expect to get much more then a little line telling someone to hurry up and get in the paddy wagon. That was awesome, just awesome!

[The Vortex Empire]

I feel sorry for Miles.

That's not it Kartr, there's still much to be shown. How the charter will do, how that boat expedition to Spain is going, all sorts of stuff.

[Simon_Jester]

Wow! I can't believe I didn't check on this story sooner! So is that it? We can now get a hopeful future started or are you guys going to keep going, "Dolson Strikes Back" followed by "Return of the Giant" and all of that?

There's a bit more potential material that fits logically after the climactic scene of you kicking ass, but not all that much. I'd guess on two or three more updates, possibly including me finishing my Day Five segment, and then we'd be exploring a new story arc.

Me, I think the smart thing to do would be to wrap that up, cap the off around Day 370, and call any subsequent material we write "SDN in the Sea of Time 2" or something. This story is already pretty much novel length, and we'd need a new story arc to produce much more content past this point.

How well the charter works, the fate of the Eagle, and so on would then be subjects for the sequel.

[thegreatpl]

Nice work. Love what has been written so far. Got a few ideas for a side story knocking around in my head, but i'm not a member of the writers guild nor do i think i could get in with my lack of board presence.

[thegreatpl]

ok, so i got bored and wrote a story based on a few ideas of my own, but im not a member of the writers guild. Who would be best to send it to?

[Simon_Jester]

Send to me for proofreading and sanity check because, God help me, I actually enjoy proofreading.

We can work out the rest later, if there's anything to work out.

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

ok, so i got bored and wrote a story based on a few ideas of my own, but im not a member of the writers guild. Who would be best to send it to?

Send it to me as well.

[Alferd Packer]

Day 362, Afternoon, Nantucket

Nara was sitting in a small waiting area across from the nurse's station, chatting with Gail Underhill. Packer watched cautiously as he approached, but Nara seemed be in good spirits, laughing and...holy shit, gesturing! As he drew closer, he heard that they weren't speaking English. Well, not entirely.

"I will go to the lake," Nara said in her native speech, speaking and gesturing slowly.

Gail hesitated, then repeated, "I go to the lake...will." At least, that's how it ran in Packer's head; she gestured too late to modify the modal in a way that made sense.

Nara laughed, then said in English, "No, move your hand when you say 'kas.' Not after."

Gail offered a small smile. "I think I'll need some more practice." She noticed Packer, and stood. "Ah, Mister Packer. Nara tells me all is well."

Packer nodded. "All's well here. I don't know about outside."

"Outside is...okay. For now." Gail looked around. "We all managed to get some sleep, but there's a lot to be done. I'm actually here on the behalf of the Commandant. He would have liked to visit you himself, but he is, as you might imagine, incredibly busy."

"I can imagine," Packer said. He paused a moment. "Oh, uh...by the way, Gail, I'm sorry for yelling at you last night. I didn't mea--"

"Think nothing of it," Gail replied. "I understand why you did what you did. I consider the matter closed."

"Okay," Packer said, trying to keep the uncertainly out of his voice. "Say, the Machinists haven't caused any problems, right?"

"None of which I'm aware," Gail confirmed. Packer smiled to himself.

"At any rate," Gail went on, "I've several things to discuss with you. The first is perhaps the most trivial in the grand scheme of things, but I'm sure it'll be important to you, and that's where you'll be living once you leave the hospital."

Packer looked at Nara. "Problems in the Couples' District?"

"To put it mildly. While no one was happy about what happened, there are those living in the Couples' District who are enraged by the whole thing. The most ardent of these are...well, they're not saying kind things, and they have quite the axe to grind." Gail looked at both of them in turn. "What this means for you is that it may be...difficult to place you in a house in the Couples' District. The feelers I've put out, are, frankly, not at all good. Maybe people will calm down in a few days, but if the most ardent among them start campaigning to keep you out, well, you may not be able to count anyone in the District as your friend."

Packer nodded. "Understood. Honestly, I can totally see it from their point of view. Especially now that I've played a major role in a coup. So, what are our options?"

"We have a few," Gail replied. "First, we simply place you and Nara in an empty house within the District. As much as they might want to, they cannot stop that. Well, barring some kind of physical intervention, of course. If you're uncomfortable with that, though, the only other sane option I can offer you is to have Nara live at Point Breeze for the winter, and you can live where you please."

Nara asked, "What is the Point Breeze?"

Gail said to Nara, "It's a large building where many women live. About half of all the women on the island stay there."

"Why?"

Gail frowned momentarily. "Because it is not safe for them to live alone. There are too many men, and they would fight for women. Or worse, hurt them."

Nara nodded severely. "So if they are in one house, the Watch Men can protect them."

"Exactly," Gail said. "The only other place women can be safe is in a group of houses like the one you went to."

"And those people do not want us," Nara said in a small voice.

Gail's face turned from severe to sympathetic in a heartbeat. "Right now, it does appear so. But, I think that will change with time. They're angry and scared right now, but it's hard to stay that way forever."

Nara nodded, silent for a moment. "And if not, then we live in the Point Breeze?"

"Oh, no, Nara. Only you." She folded her arms. "No men live there. Only women."

"I do not want live away from my husband," Nara said with impressive finality. Gail gave him a look as if to say, Well, I guess that answers that. Packer smiled a bit, but it was gone quickly. After all, he couldn't be around Nara the entire winter, and...

"What's the sentiment, generally, on the island towards the people on the mainland?" Packer asked in a clipped voice. Gail gave him another look, showing she understood the subtext of his question.

"Most people are ambivalent. Some, like you, are eager for integration, for a variety of reasons. Still others take a rather hard line, and believe that assimilation is the only way, and that the native culture has very little of value to offer us." Gail added, as though she were eager to drop the subject, "That actually brings me to my next point. We believe you can be of further use in keeping order, even while here in the hospital."

"Oh yeah?" Packer folded his arms. "How's that?"

"There are, of course, many leaders of both skilled and unskilled labor groups who, like you, command great respect and loyalty." Gail clarified, "Again, this what the Commandant has been telling me, though it does confirm my own observations. He...we've all been truthful about the coup, but frankly, we don't have a lot of trust left to trade on, to say nothing of those on the island who are calling this transition illegal."

Packer cringed inwardly. He expected as much, but of course, he didn't like what that sort of talk might portend. There were enough Councilors who'd remained silent during the final vote last night to effectively claim that they'd been usurped...or, at least, make a damn good argument in that direction. They'd shut up and keep their heads low...unless they thought they had enough popular support to make something happen.

Packer looked at Nara momentarily, then back at the Gail. "Alright, Gail. What do you need me to do?"

She replied, "We have invited the leaders of various key groups to the hospital. You'll meet with them, placate them as best you can, and ask them for a few days' patience." She added, "The Commandant thought this would also be an opportunity for you to place some feelers out there for your cultural exchange. Maybe get word about the idea out to the general public."

Packer smiled a bit. Quid pro quo, Toby. Maybe he's worried he'll owe me a favor. Well, why not?

"Alright," he said. "Show them on in."

Day 362, Afternoon, Nantucket

"So," Packer said, "he knows he's cornered. No options left. He's got a Watchman literally breathing down his neck...and the asshole draws a gun!" A few snorts of surprise came from the men who sat around Packer. The men before him and Nara were definitely a large part of the Old Man's 'outside elite.' Madaket's harbormaster was there, as was the foreman for the Bartlett farm. Nantucket's Master Carpenter(or so he styled himself) was there too, listening intently to Packer. They all were, though some spent a portion of their time ogling Nara with various degrees of discretion. Packer didn't mind.

"So what do I do?" He laughed at the insanity of it. "I throw my goddamn hatchet at him!" He now showed them his hatchet, which still had some Sheetrock caked along its edge. "Of course, he'd been taken down before that, but it was crazy. I didn't even think. And that's the way it went down. The Chairman and Mister Dolsen were hauled off, and the Council basically voted themselves out of power. They're working on a charter or a constitution now for public ratification."

"So your statement was legit?" a man by the name of Adam Cohen said. He was in charge of Siasconset's waterworks and sewers. Some of the men had given their names; some hadn't. Packer didn't quite know what to make of that, so he simply accepted it. Maybe they thought that he knew all their names. Or maybe they wanted to let their job title impress him.

They weren't meeting behind closed doors; they were in the ER's waiting area. Packer wanted anyone who cared to listen to be able to, and several passers by had joined and left at intervals as Packer told his tale.

"Too legit to quit," Packer said, and few of them chuckled. "But seriously, guys. This is the real deal. You have a shot at the bigtime here. Elections coming up. You can get on the inside, make the system work better. Or, you can fuck it up and face the wrath of the voter. The point is, it's on you."

Each man absorbed this statement, masticating it like a tender cut of steak. Packer realized he was getting hungry. At length, the head brewer spoke up. "Forgive my skepticism, but you've gotta be looking out for Number One here, right? Or rather, your family?" He gestured to Nara.

"Of course," Packer said. "I don't want to let this island blow up in an orgy of violence and repression. It makes absolutely no sense for me to want that. In looking out for Number One, I'm also looking out for you."

"But you want your agenda implemented?" the head brewer asked.

"I don't have an agenda. Not for domestic affairs. I mean, unless you call not wanting hundreds of people to die an agenda." Packer spread his hands, palms up. "If you guys like me, great. If you hate me, that's fine. What's going to happen in the next few days is that two groups are going to shake themselves out. Hot-button issues are going to divide people, much as their opinion of me has divided them. Small groups who want to remain...pure, let's say, will do so. And they will be shut out of the political process.

"Want some free advice? Start building your coalitions. Now. Figure out where you stand, where your men stand, what's important to you, and if other groups are like-minded enough to want the same things. You may not be able to stack the new government with a bunch of brewers, but say the Master Carpenter gets a seat because you and the dockworkers and the farmers agreed to vote for him. Now you can try to get at least some of your ideas implemented. Better than nothing, right?"

"I guess so," the brewer said. He looked over at the Master Carpenter, who was failing to suppress his smile.

Packer nodded. "Remember, for each position you take, someone's going to take the opposite. You guys hate me, want me off the island? The other group's gonna want to beatify me. You think the Watch should thin its ranks by one half? They'll want to double it. And so on. If you start now, you'll be in good shape, at minimum, to counter your opposition. But that's your fight, not mine."

"So why are you here, then?" Madaket's harbormaster asked. "Just passing the winter until your little girl is born?"

Packer grinned. "I've got another iron in the fire. One that can operate independent of whatever government we wind up with. I've got a plan. An idea."

"Oh? What's that?" That would be Nantucket's harbormaster. It was hard to judge (at least, to Packer) who had more sway, he or Madaket's boss. Maybe they hadn't decided that, either, and were still having a pissing contest whenever their paths crossed.

"It's like this," Packer said. "The reason we got so worked up over ideology is because that's all the future has to offer us right now. Fighting over empty words. Nothing tangible. So, what I want to do is change that. Start integrating you," he pointed at the men, "with the people on the mainland."

Silence. They were all listening. The nurses and doctors nearby were listening, too. Packer went on, "They have so much to offer us! And not just what you guys are thinking. My tribe's healers have probably forgotten more valid folk medicine than anyone on this island knows." He gestured the medical staff. "They know that we'll need that one day soon.

"They hunt with efficiency. They know the land. They know the ocean. The seasons. And you, in turn, know things that they don't. Complement their folk medicine with our knowledge. Show them how to raise crops. Build sturdier homes.

"I found my family out there. You can, too. That's the future I want Nantucket to have. A tangible future, one that you can hold in your arms. I want my tribe's women to find good husbands. I want the gay couples on this island to provide loving families for abandoned or orphaned children. It won't happen all at once, but I swear that I will do everything in my power to make it happen. If we do this right, then we can all look forward to bouncing grandkids on our knee one day."

Packer shut up and watched the men. Many were as old or older than Packer, and for a moment, seemed to be lost in the fantasy. Feeling pangs of your own mortality? Packer wondered.

He decided to add: "Back in the future, you could have waited until you were forty-five to start a family and you'd still see grandkids. Got cancer? No problem, there's a monoclonal antibody that'll cure you lickety-split! High cholesterol? Won't be a problem after you take this pill!" Packer turned grim. "That's not reality now, though. You get cancer? You're dead. Heart attack? Dead. Stroke? Dead...if you're lucky. You don't have eighty guaranteed years anymore, guys. You'll count yourself blessed to see sixty-five. Fortunately, there's still one way to live forever."

He let the ripple of thoughtful murmurs pass over them like a gentle wave, then said, "So the plan is this. I teach whoever's interested how to speak my tribe's language. How our society works. From these people I will select...several dozen, let's say. More than fifty, but less than a hundred, based on aptitude, practical expertise, and personal character. We then go out to the mainland next spring. You bring your knowledge, your skills, tools. And you put down roots. It might take a couple years, but you find yourselves special ladies. You decide if you want to stay, or bring your new family back here to Nantucket. And on it will go. Word will spread from there, and before we know it, our society becomes viable. But more than that, it combines with the one out there. Hybrid vigor."

"BOBW," the Master Carpenter said. Packer and some of the others laughed.

"Well, I gotta say, Mister Packer," the Bartlett Farm's foreman said, "you paint a rosy picture. I myself would like to get on the mainland, if only to get a decent growing season. The fucking ocean drags winter out until May."

Packer nodded. "Plenty of good land out there. It's going to be hard work, of course, and it won't go perfectly, but I really think it's the best course for both Nantucketers and my tribe."

They were silent for some time. Finally, the Master Carpenter rose. "Well, you've been very gracious to meet with us, Mister Packer. You are either a goddamned gifted liar, or you have truly been treated terribly by the...former government of Nantucket. I cannot speak for these other gentlemen, but I can say that I will tell all the men under my purview about your program. I will also suggest to them, very strongly, that they allow the deposed Council time to do their last task."

"Well spoken," Madaket's harbormaster said. And with that, they all rose to leave.