The Children of the Sky

Now they were past the south tip of Whale Island. Ahead was Hidden Island to the west and the inland cliffs to the east. Her sailors had become quite the experts. Right now, all that skill seemed to be dedicated to a perfect “threading of the needle,” heading right up the middle of the Straits.

The radio abruptly came to life. This was not the barely audible mumbling of overheard conversations. This was Tinish sent directly from Oobii or the orbiter: “Come land. Come land east. East.” Even Johanna could understood the chords.

“There there there!” Cheepers’ association shouted in Samnorsk, pointing toward the inland cliffs, but north of the piers at Cliffside. She saw a narrow beach, backed by rugged talus. Humans were standing there, waving colored squares of cloth.

Around Johanna, heads perked up. Tines shifted about on the various masts. Members on the deck were pulling at the multiple tillers. The whole craft began drifting toward the makeshift semaphores.

Merto again: “Hei, that worked! They’re turning toward Rock Harbor.”

To the south of Johanna’s raft, the rest of the formation was drifting right, all toward the narrow strip of Rock Harbor. She squinted for a better view. She hadn’t been down to Rock Harbor since the year two shipwreck, before the Tropical Embassy. The place was not so deadly anymore. The worst of the jaggedness had silted over and Woodcarver’s packs had used gunpowder to break the most dangerous rocks—but despite the name, it was not a proper harbor.

Ah! Of course. That was the reason Nevil wanted the Tropicals to land there. Innocent observers could be kept at a distance. The Tropicals and their freight would be completely in the control of whoever Nevil and Vendacious had positioned there.

And I will be caught before anyone knows I’m alive.

The rocky shore was less than a thousand meters away. Johanna froze for a second or two. Then she grabbed the radio and raced up the familiar path to the top of the cargo jumble, the base of the tallest mast. After all these tendays, she had that worked out so the move was safe and fast—and every step was shielded from the orbiter’s lookdown.

She would not be shielded from observers on the shore.

“Hei, hei, listen up!” Johanna’s human voice was such a frail thing, but it was all she had. The Tines were looking toward Rock Harbor, or pulling on the sails to guide them eastwards. Johanna jumped up and down, waving. Cheepers and scattered heads turned in her direction; attention spread across the choir.

“Go west. Go west!” She pointed first at Rock Harbor and then swept her arm around the horizon, jabbing at Hidden Island. It was her best imitation of the sort of gesturing that a singleton might do with its snout and neck. “Go west!”, and she repeated the gesture.

The radio at her feet remained silent. Her luck was holding; she hadn’t been noticed by Nevil’s observers.

The mob milled around for a moment. They’d gotten clear directions from the radio. This was the sort of situation where they might not play ball with her. By now she could even recognize their rippling dance as factions of mind dithered. But the radio remained silent, and more and more little clots of awareness were appearing in the mob, amplifying Johanna’s point.

Then she saw coordinated unanimity. All around the raft, jaws tightened on ropes and tillers, pulling just so, responding to the result to correct and maintain the maneuver. The raft turned again, ponderously drifting westward across the straits.

That got noticed. The radio came alive with two or three human voices:

“Holy shit, the lead raft has lost control!” At Rock Harbor the hand-waved semaphores bounced frantically. Johanna could hear faint shouting coming from the shore, human voices all. Nevil might be consorting with Vendacious, but he remained a racist.

“What’s gone wrong?” That was Tami’s voice. “Powers! Nevil, there’s something strange on that lead barge. There’s a bundle of rags flapping around by the main mast.” Thanks for the fashion comment, Tam. Johanna couldn’t resist: she stopped cheerleading the Choir long enough to face the cliffs. She could only guess where Tami was watching from, but she gave the rocks a cheery wave.

Tami’s voice came immediately. “Uk! It’s alive, Nevil! There’s a human on that barge. It’s Johanna!… What do you mean? I know what I see. We can finally learn why she did all those terrible things.” Then the radio went silent. Jo waved again, but that didn’t provoke anything more from Tami. Johanna looked to the south. The raft behind them was copying her maneuver—and the one behind that! Maybe all ten would elude the cozy rendezvous Nevil had planned.

Johanna’s raft was less than fifteen hundred meters from the piers of the South End of Hidden Island. She could see packs and humans there, a crowd forming.