Launch 732 Campsite, Planet Newhome

Amber Houston

Alltyg Sjívull sjegül jorfell syddùr…Alltyg Sjívull sjegül jorfell syddùr…Alltyg Sjívull sjegül jorfell syddùr…”

Practice. Once upon a time, Amber had found it dull, going over the same things over and over again until they got stuck in her head and she could do them or remember them by rote. Partly because the repetition got dull, but mostly because she often didn’t need it. If it didn’t click the first time, she’d found, usually her best approach was to try learning it a different way rather than ram her head against the problem until it finally yielded.

There was no other way to learn the native language, though. LITA was an amazing tool, and she’d thanked DANI profusely for it, but it couldn’t fix her most basic obstacle, which was that there were sounds in the native speech that needed to flow naturally out of her mouth if she was ever going to speak it fluently. And the only way to get that to happen was repetitive, conscientious practice.

This had resulted in one of the stranger things Amber had ever done in her life; she was prowling around the camp hissing repeatedly at herself.

DANI, through LITA, was calling it a “voiceless alveolar lateral fricative.” He’d sent detailed diagrams and demonstrations of how to extract the sound from a human mouth, with assurances that plenty of ancient languages used it.

“Yes,” Nikki had noted. “Ancient ones. Meaning nobody speaks ‘em anymore. Easy to see why.”

Still. Over about an hour of practice, Amber had at least managed to turn the sound from a kind of strangled quack into…well, the hiss. It still felt a little clumsy in her mouth, but she could feel it improving.

Roy was failing dismally, though doggedly kept trying. Nikki was listening intently, but not even trying to pronounce the native speak, and some of the other Rangers were…

Well, okay. Floyd and Arianna were both picking it up pretty fast, too. Arianna had even invented a kind of tongue-twister…and promptly been quite put out when Amber had started rattling it off almost flawlessly for practice.

“Alltyg Sjívull sjegül jorfell syddùr…”

LITA awarded her with an A+: perfect pronunciation. It made Nikki groan and massage her scalp. She was sitting cross-legged nearby, connecting lengths of PVC pipe that would soon, hopefully, become their outpost’s shower and toilet.

“How?” she demanded. “You only met them yesterday!”

“Hey, we always knew she’s smart,” Roy objected loyally.

“I just have a good teacher,” Amber said and waved her U-Tool.

“Naw, don’t be modest. You’re the more brainier one, always have been!”

“See, this is why you don’t get to say I’m good at Alienspeak!” Amber giggled and prodded him. “You’re barely any good at English!”

“Pff.” He waved one of his huge mitts and rolled his eyes. “I always got straight As. I just like to use more funner words!”

For once Amber let his nonsense slide, though it took an effort of will.

“Alltyg Sjívull sjegül jorfell syddùr…Alltyg Sjívull sjegül jorfell syddùr…Next.”

“What does that even mean, anyway?” Nikki asked.

“Directly? ‘Ship Sjívull ‘wavebird’ named is.’” Floyd replied.

“That’s really backwards.”

“Their whole language is backwards.”

“You get used to it,” Amber said with a smile and studied the next sentence LITA had generated for her. In truth, she was coming to like the alien language; it fit softly in her mouth. English felt like a clipped, precise, and technical language in comparison, but Sjívull’s native tongue could be purred.

“Iddir alltyg an ‘Dandelion’, heljogül e senín,” she read. “Iddín wer senùt ‘Sol,’ thredden ash fer sjatlüdd…LITA, this isn’t quite right. Yes, Sol is a hundred and twelve light years away, but it took us two hundred and eighty-four years to get here. Send it back to DANI for review.”

“Ugh, now she’s correcting the translator!” Nikki stood up and stretched. She seemed angry about it for some reason.

“Well, it’s not like they’re ready for the concept of a light year yet…” Amber replied, suddenly feeling a bit self-consciously sheepish.

“Is telling them where we come from a good idea?” Arianna asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be? What could they possibly do about it?”

“Well, they might think we’re lying. Or crazy. Or blasphemous!”

“True…” Amber conceded. “And if it’s blasphemy, they could get really angry.”

Nikki and Roy glanced at each other and apparently decided via twin telepathy that they needed to practice some other skills rather than listen in on the language lessons. Both of them found something more practical to do. Nikki took her rifle some distance away from the camp and lay down on her belly for some target practice, and Roy vanished into the launch. Shortly afterward, he emerged with a blunt heavy facsimile of a sword, set his U-Tool on the ground, and followed its tutorials.

Amber glanced toward the river. She wanted to go back and talk with the aliens some more, but DANI had advised giving them some room for the day while he monitored their activity via a reprogrammed survey drone. Apparently there was some feeling that they’d intimidated the natives a bit yesterday, and it was best to respect that and give them some time to adjust.

But that just left sitting around under a stretched tarpaulin shelter to stay out of the worst of Newhome’s bright, hot noonday sunlight and practicing her language skills, while all around her the Rangers took care of other business.

Floyd and Arianna were still diligently cataloging native flora and performing toxicology studies, looking for new things to go in the Adventure Stew. They’d already identified three new leafy species, five berries, and a knotted fungus that grew underground among the tree roots that were perfectly edible, at least as far as the human digestive tract was concerned.

From there, Kelly took over and experimented. She’d already come up with a kind of berry sauce that miraculously turned dehydrated chicken into something edible. And the root fungus was delicious when grated thinly over a salad.

Meanwhile, Doug was apparently completely happy to shuttle supplies up to the outpost site, where Danish was patrolling the perimeter, setting out motion sensors, and Tony and Steve were breaking ground and digging ditches. Marie was up there alongside them so she could paint and seal the walls, and Rose was flitting about the place, trying to make herself useful.

She got Amber’s attention with a tap on the shoulder. “Amber, I think you need your hair brushed?”

Amber’s hand flew automatically to her hair. It was true; the last time she’d properly taken care of it had been…

When her mum had brushed it for her. More than a week ago. And her hair really needed daily maintenance, or else it turned into a heavy, matted mess. She sighed and nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Thanks, Rose.”

The younger girl knelt behind her and went to work. She was as gentle and careful as she could be, but Amber’s hair had started to become a single giant dreadlock. Sorting it out painlessly just wasn’t an option.

Amber gritted her teeth and bore it. A little pain now was going to save her a lot more pain later. She gave Rose a few words of encouragement whenever she started to get timid and focused on her language studies.

It took a long and excruciating time, but eventually the comb and brush were both running smoothly again. Rose even massaged in and brushed out some clean water, and Amber half-listened as she quietly counted off a hundred strokes. Her head felt lighter afterwards, and she realized she’d been ignoring a minor itching in her scalp that felt so good now that it was gone.

She sighed in relief. “Thanks, Rose. You were right, I needed that.”

“Yeah, but…I mean, Amber, your hair’s just gonna get like that again. Should I, like, braid it or something?”

Amber half-turned to look at her. “Do you know how?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re sure?”

Rose nodded fervently.

“Alright, go for it.” Amber turned back. “When did you learn?”

“Well, um…I-I’ve never actually done it…” Rose admitted, “but I watched a video!”

Amber hesitated, then shrugged. “Well…okay then. We all start somewhere.”

“That’s what Walker said.”

“When?”

“Just before he left. I was upset, ‘cuz you’re all older than me, and I don’t really know how to do anything yet, and I don’t wanna be useless, and that’s what he said. ‘We all start somewhere.’ So I thought about what I could do, and I thought I could clean and help people with their hair and clothes and stuff…”

Amber smiled as she felt the first tugging of the smaller girl working on her new braids. “Better to do something rather than nothing, right?”

“Right!”

“Well, I’m grateful. You’re doing good, Rose.”

She didn’t need to see Rose’s face to know it lit up. After a few aborted attempts, their new hairdresser quickly figured out the rhythm of braiding and leaned slightly over Amber’s shoulder to get a good look at LITA.

“So…this is the alien language?”

“Yeah.”

“What are the aliens like?”

“They’re like…Viking kangaroo-lions,” Amber said. “Super tall and skinny ones, with long legs.”

“What’s a Viking?”

Amber was tempted for a moment to snark about Roy’s Viking fascination—one of the few bits of history that had ever properly caught his attention—but that would have opened a rabbit-hole of explanation she didn’t have the willpower to explore.

“They were sailors and explorers back on Earth. And, well, raiders and pillagers, too. But they sailed in wooden boats and settled new lands far from their home.”

“Kinda like us?” Rose asked.

“A little. Maybe. I mean, I hope we don’t do the raiding and pillaging thing.” Amber considered that thought for a second. “Though I guess we wouldn’t need to. They don’t really have anything we want.”

“And it’s wrong!” Rose added fervently.

“That, too, of course.” Amber swiped to the next page of LITA’s recommended practice phrases, sighed, and concentrated. It was very apt to the conversation. “Yrddán en dodd ír halluedd. Tavithu elladd fíd an sjyvíllen…”

It meant: We came in peace. I hope we can be friends.

The alternative wasn’t one Amber wanted to contemplate. But when she glanced over at what the twins were practicing, she knew she had to.

For everyone’s sake.

Sjívull Wylderrjorssían

“Scout’s back, young lord.”

Sjívull jolted awake. He’d wrapped himself in a blanket and was catching up on his sleep after an exhausting few days. While the crew had mostly been able to sleep in moments of quiet, it was Sjívull’s job to think, and lead, and worry. Now that he had a quiet moment, it had only made sense to try to recover somewhat from the days of stress and all the hard thinking of talking to the dwarves.

His father had taught him an important lesson, once: Never let the men see you complain. So, he rolled out of his little nest, stretched and yawned, then vaulted over Wavebird’s side and down to the riverbank.

The scout—Gjeiron—stood at attention as he approached. “Lord.”

“Let’s hear it, Gjeiron,” Sjívull said, gesturing for the man to stand more easily. Gjeiron relaxed and nodded.

“I snuck right up the edge of the woods by their camp. Looks like the bjerkar was right, lord. There was another with one of those funny weapons. A woman, I think. Hard to tell with dwarves.”

“And?” Drynllaf asked.

“There’s…some kind of longhouse in the middle of their camp, but I’d swear to all the gods it looks like it’s made of steel. They have good tents around it, and lots of cargo. Looks like they’re hauling all that into the woods. This is the weird bit, though. I think they’re all children.”

“What makes you say that?” Sjívull asked.

“If that Roí ain’t the oldest one there, I’m a plumeback,” Gjeiron declared.

Sjívull nodded along, thinking. “What was he doing?”

“Couldn’t rightly tell, he vanished into that weird longhouse of theirs. Around the camp, he carries on like he’s Lady Ember’s bjerkar, except…uh…well, begging your pardon, sir…” he glanced at Drynllaf.

“Say it,” Drynllaf grunted.

“A good deal friendlier than most bjerkar, I think. Which is part of why I think they’re kids. Even him.”

“All of them?” Sjívull pressed. “No grown men or women in sight?”

“Not a one. I’d bet my tail on it.”

“Who would send their children into the wild, alone?” Sjívull pondered.

“I don’t rightly know, but I watched them close. Lady Ember is already speaking our language pretty good. An’ that Roí knows how to fight, no doubt. But it’s the other one, the one we didn’t see before, that really scares me.”

“Why?”

“She was practicin’ with that weapon o’ theirs. Just lay on her belly in the dirt and pointed it at a tree, an’ it’d go BANG, sir. An’ chips would fly from the wood. That tree was…a hundred strides away, maybe. An’ when I snuck around there later on, it was full of holes, all close enough together you could lay your hand over ‘em all.”

He fished in his belt pouch and produced a squashed, strange bit of metal. “Dug this outta the wood with my knife,” he explained. “Like an arrowhead with no shaft or fletching. An’ it was this deep in good hard wood, too.” He held up his finger and thumb to indicate.

Drynllaf grunted and took the item for inspection. “A hundred strides, you say.”

“Thereabouts. Made it look easy, too. After a while she started practicing on a different tree, but that one was too far away for me to get to. Two hundred strides, maybe even further.”

Drynllaf’s eyes met Sjívull’s and he returned the arrowhead, or whatever it was, to Gjeiron’s palm. “Good work. Take some rest and provisions, then see if you can find where they’re moving all their cargo to.”

“Aye, bjerkar.”

Gjeiron bowed to Sjívull and headed for the camp, where the rest of the crew were making short work of butchering some kind of animal. Sjívull had to admit, the smell was making his stomach sing.

“These dwarves are dangerous,” Drynllaf commented once the scout was gone.

“And clever,” Sjívull agreed. “And with that Yutül thing, they have strange weapons, a longhouse made of steel, and the gods only know what else. But why children?”

“Children on their own, anyway,” Drynllaf agreed. “It’s not like a First Voyage; you’ve got a good crew at your back, and me. If Gjeiron’s right, though, these are just…young’uns. All on their own.”

“If he’s right. It’s hard to tell with dwarves, but…I have to agree. Ember seems young. In fact I’d say she’s about my age.”

“Aye. And if you’ll pardon my saying so young lord, you could learn a thing or two from her. She has presence.”

“Presence?”

“Aye.” Drynllaf didn’t elaborate.

“Well…by the same token, bjerkar, you could learn a thing from Roí. He…has this presence as well. But he’s not so, uh…”

“Fearsome?” A rare almost-smile crept onto Drynllaf’s face.

“Menacing.”

“That’s something he needs to learn from me, lord.”

“Perhaps. I will recall, however, your earlier comments. Something about him ‘tearing you in half,’ perhaps?”

Drynllaf chuckled, an event Sjívull was almost tempted to note on the calendar. “I shouldn’t like to fight him, it’s true,” he agreed. “But he’s young. He could be a lot more than he is. Will be, in time. That’s the nature of boys…young lord.”

That was an altogether disconcerting thought for Sjívull. At least he could understand Roí’s nature. It was there, easy to see and impossible to miss, and easy to predict. He’d just grow into a more perfect bjerkar. Clear, understandable, and easy.

Ember, on the other hand…

“How quickly can we be ready to sail?” he asked.

“Are we leaving so soon?” Drynllaf asked.

“I doubt our pursuers have forgotten us or given up. Sooner or later they’ll come up this river in search of us. If we can slip away while they’re wasting time up another river, we might be back across the ocean and home before they know we’re gone. These dwarf-children are…interesting…”

“…But if we’re all butchered in our camp by marauders, what will it matter?” Drynllaf finished, nodding. “No time soon, I fear. By my reckoning, it’s a twelve-day back to your father’s hold. We need at least enough food to keep the men strong enough to pull rope and oar when we get there. More, if we don’t want them grumbling every wet stride of the way back.”

“And a twelve-day of food takes a lot longer than twelve days to gather,” Sjívull said. “Godspit. Unless our pursuers’ supply situation is as dire as our own, they’ll find us before we’re ready.”

“It may be direr,” Drynllaf reminded him. “A bigger ship can mean more men or more supplies. If it’s more supplies, they’ll number about as many as we do, but better-fed. If not, they’ll have more men, who’ll be half-starved and desperate by now. Neither option is good.”

“There’s nothing else for it then,” Sjívull decided. “Here we are, and here we’ll stay. We’ll prepare some defenses around the camp and overwinter here. Maybe even build a winterhall if we can manage it. With some good barricades on our side, our foe might go home empty-handed.”

“Might.”

“Might is better than won’t. If you have an objection, share it or hold your peace.”

Drynllaf shook his head. “No objection, lord.”

“Then let’s get to work…”

Amber Houston

“Hey, Amber! I think you need to talk to that See-vul fella again.”

Roy had spent the rest of the evening play-sparring with the kids and doing some of the heavier work the others couldn’t manage on their own. He had of course worked up a substantial sweat, so owing to Amber’s objections, he’d gleefully charged off to the river to clean up and came back close to dark, with a huge water bladder in each hand and a big sack of freshly-washed laundry slung over a bare shoulder. Normally the excuse to do any hard work at all had him excited, but this time he came back at a decidedly un-Roy-like, easy and measured pace.

He was worried, and Amber didn’t need to see his heavy, furrowed brow to know.

“What about?” she asked. “I found a Turkey a la King packet in the rations, by the way. It’s on your bedroll.”

“Aww, you do love me!”

Amber snorted. “When you don’t stink, anyway.”

“Naw, I stink good!”

“Anyway,” Amber interjected before he could get started, “what’s worrying you?”

Roy thumped down on his backside next to her. “I took a look at our new friends while I was down at the river, and they’re making barricades. And, uh, I managed to sneak a look on the deck of their ship. They don’t have a whole lotta food with them. Like, they already ate it all. Lotsa empty sacks and stuff. Like…lots.”

For a second, Amber was tempted to quip that of course Roy would notice their food. But then the implications started to creep up on her.

“That’s…” she frowned and put her U-Tool back in its belt pouch. “Why would they push their supplies to the limit like that?”

“I dunno. And they got more guys workin’ on those barricades than on fishing or hunting, too. Which…I mean, to me that only makes sense if they’re more scared of an attack than of starving.”

“Hmm…”

Amber sat back against the launch and thought. “They do have food, though?”

“Yeah, some kinda red meat. It’s a few days old, though, and they’re eatin’ it fast. I figure it’s something they caught, and they’re getting as much as they can in their bellies before it goes bad.”

“Is the outpost ready for us to move over there?”

“Nikki went up there to check it out. You thinkin’ we should move?”

“You did say it’s a defensible spot,” Amber pointed out. “If Sjívull and his men are scared of someone coming to attack them, maybe we should be, too. They know this world better than we do.”

“Right.” Roy touched the communicator in his ear. “Nick. You there?”

Nikki’s reply sounded…testy. She always got like that when her concentration was interrupted. “I never take this damn thing out.”

Roy snorted, but didn’t rise to it. “Hey, uh…how’s the outpost comin?’”

“It has walls, a roof, clean water, and power. I wouldn’t call it finished, but we can move in, I guess.”

Amber met Roy’s eye and nodded. He sprang to his feet.

“Okay, Rangers, listen up!”

Well. He certainly had Walker’s authority behind him, but he had the voice down, too. Amber grinned and stood up as well.

The Rangers fell in around them. She had to admit, she was impressed. In just a few short days, a rag-tag group of refugee children and teenagers had managed to achieve quite a lot, and without much supervision, either. There’d been a fight or two, and some hurt feelings and tears, of course there had. But by and large, the whole troop had found something they were good at and were doing it to the best of their ability. And when an actual order like a ‘listen up’ came along, they were still sharp and shiny.

“Guys, we’re movin’ up to the outpost. Grab your stuff and get ready to move!”

“Are we in danger?” Arianna looked and sounded downright alarmed.

Amber shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. But let’s not get ourselves into danger by being lazy, right?” she said. There were nods. “We’ll take whatever we can carry. Everything else goes back in the launch, and we’ll move it tomorrow. Where’s Doug?”

Doug Locklear had claimed the quad bike (after a minor scuffle with Danish Abbasi) and seemed to like nothing more than hauling stuff from the launch to the outpost. In fact, his patience for it seemed to be entirely unlimited, and Amber had seen him just that morning, embarking for another hot, tiring, sunburned day of basically just…being a delivery boy. And yet he’d had a massive smile on his face, as if nothing could make him happier.

“He’s up at the outpost, Amber,” Marie said. “I think he took one of the hydroponic crates, and Kelly.”

“Kelly?” Amber asked.

“Yeah. She said somebody had to grow potatoes, so it may as well be her.” Arianna shrugged, as if this was the height of folly and weirdness. “I mean, why potatoes?”

“Why not?” Amber countered.

“We know all about potatoes!”

Floyd nodded. “We need to know more about the natives, too.”

“One step at a time, Ranger,” Roy reminded him. “We gotta eat, remember. And the ration packs won’t last forever.”

“We’ve got Adventure Stew, though…”

“Guys? We’ll worry about what we’re growing some other time. Right now, let’s stay on-topic please,” Amber said. “I want everyone to pack up your stuff, your tents, and bedrolls, and be ready to march. Tonight we’re gonna sleep up at the outpost, and everything we leave behind has to be left safe inside the launch. Any questions?”

“What are we taking up on the quad?” Roy asked.

“I guess we’ll talk about that with Doug when he gets back. Any other questions?”

A few dozen shaking heads told her there weren’t. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Walker had always set an example by jumping into the work himself, so Amber did the same and made a beeline for the tent she’d been sharing with Roy and Nikki. Though they were big enough for four, each one was small, lightweight, and clever enough that a Ranger could take it down, carry it, and erect it all by herself. It was something Amber could carry, freeing Roy up to carry something heavier.

And there was Mister Wiggle. Somehow she just couldn’t go into the tent without taking a few seconds to pick him up and stroke her thumb through his soft grey fur.

It was ridiculous. She’d gone years without him. She’d have sworn on the Authors she no longer needed or even wanted him. He was just a stuffed rabbit, after all.

But he was about the only thing on the entire planet that was hers. Everything else was either alien or standard-issue equipment. But Amber Houston had the good fortune to keep something unique and human all for herself.

She looked over at Roy.

He was bundling up the kitchen with Marie, who had gone to class with Amber every other day up on the ship and was pretty much the same age. It wasn’t hard to notice that he wasn’t getting quite as much work done as he normally would, seeing as he kept pausing to talk to her, crack a joke, show off a little…some things never changed. Amber shook her head with a smile and went back to packing.

Doug showed up about twenty minutes later, rolling into the camp on the quad and singing merrily to himself. He hopped off the bike and was immediately pointed in Amber’s direction by the nearest Ranger.

“I take it we’re movin,’” he said, grinning at the bustle around them before he swept a hand through his unruly mop of curls to get them out of his eyes. Amber suppressed a giggle—Doug’s untamable hair was a running joke in the troop, but he was either oblivious or genuinely didn’t care. Probably the latter.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think we should take the kitchen up, and a few crates of medical supplies and rations. Everyone can carry their own bedding and clothes.”

He nodded. “Makes sense. Maybe take the U-Tools and rifles? Just in case our Viking space-kangaroo friends do manage to break into the launch.”

“Good thinking,” Amber agreed. “Can you fit anything else?”

He shook his head. “I learned the hard way not to overload the trailer. So: kitchen, meds, food, U-tools, and rifles. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“On it, boss.”

He whirled away, leaving Amber to blink at herself in the fading light.

“Boss?” she asked of nobody in particular.

Doug’s casual use of the word drew to her attention that, although the Rangers didn’t technically need somebody to take charge—they all knew how to find a job that needed doing and then do it—so far every decision they’d made since first landing had involved her at some point, even if they just told her what they were doing. Or told Roy or Nikki, who passed it along.

Up on the ship she’d always…whenever they did a field expedition, she’d been so grateful to get away from her parents for a few days, she’d just relaxed and let it all flow. She’d been involved, of course—Walker never tolerated people who didn’t pitch in—but she’d never been like the twins, who would take charge and give instructions and be team captains…

Maybe that was the difference. They were intense. And that was fine up on the ship, but this wasn’t the ship. This was the real thing, and not a chance to relax. The weekend wasn’t about to end and deposit them back at school and at home. Amber loved Roy and Nikki like they were her brother and sister, but there was only so much deck-shaking exuberance a person could take. Even she got exhausted by them, eventually.

Walker had that same kind of energy, but more…tempered. Slower. Level. And now that he was gone…

The why of it didn’t really matter, she decided. If the Rangers were running things by her, and Doug was calling her “boss,” and even the McKays were generally acting like she was in charge, that meant she was in charge. The important part was just…getting it right. Well…okay. Was there anything she should do at this point? What would she want Walker to do if he were present? She’d want to hear him tell a joke and reassure them. And come up with a story, maybe.

She finished packing her rucksack and took stock of the camp. Everything was pretty much ready; if it wasn’t on the quad or on somebody’s back, it had gone back in the launch. They were about ready to move. If they were going to hear something reassuring, now was the time.

Feeling nervous and a little foolish, she climbed atop the quad and thought about every time she’d ever heard Walker call “Listen up!” She weighed the sound of it in her mind, felt its impact. Don’t shout, that was the key. Don’t be shrill. She needed to call out loudly and confidently, not sound desperate for attention. To her astonishment, she didn’t even need to call out at all. The moment she was standing up there, people turned to look. They fell in around the quad, waiting, listening.

Well…okay.

“I know, I know, we’re moving again. And we just got settled in, too…” she began. The older Rangers grinned nervously or laughed. The younger ones just nodded. “…But Nikki tells me the outpost has electricity and hot water, so we’ll all finally get to have a proper shower. Let’s talk marching order. Doug and the quad are going to be in the front; Roy is tail-end Charlie. If there’s anybody who needs help getting their stuff packed, sing out now. Otherwise, we’re moving as soon as the launch has been locked down. Any questions?”

Nobody raised their hand or spoke, so she took that as a no. “Okay, you know the drill. Everybody grab your travel buddy and form up; wait for my signal. Let’s go!”

Roy offered a hand to help her jump down off the quad. He was grinning from ear to ear as he did so and gave her a hug.

“I heard Doug callin’ you ‘boss,’” he said quietly. “Whaddya think?”

Amber took a deep breath. “I…guess I need to live up to it.”

“Good. I’ll help.”

“You will?”

“Well, yeah! Of course!” Roy looked around at the bustling Rangers. “Look, you know me. I take charge, it’s kinda what I do. I know how to lead. Hell, I’ve been trained in how to lead. Maybe more than I knew about.”

He paused and scowled for a moment, then immediately brightened up again. “But right now, they don’t need a leader like me. I’m kinda a, uh…”

“Force of nature?” Amber suggested.

“Yeah!” Roy grinned sheepishly. “Which is great for, uh, wrestlin’ teams and y’know, that sorta thing. But look at ‘em! They’re lost and worried and a long way from home, and right now they ain’t lookin’ for a force of nature to lead ‘em, they’re lookin’ for a…a…”

He trailed off, sighed, and finally seemed to pin down his thoughts enough to put them into words.

“Hell, Amber. They’re looking for someone who doesn’t scare them.”

Amber nodded as she let that sink in. “Okay. I, uh…thanks, Roy.”

“So, uh…yeah. If you need me to do anything more, uh, what I’m good at…I will.”

Amber nodded and gave him a grateful hug, then glanced up the ramp into the launch. “I guess we’d better lock down and get out of here.”

“Right!” Roy vanished up the ramp, made a quick sweep of the interior to make sure nobody was inside, then slapped a large red button on his way back down the ramp. The launch promptly folded up its rear hatch and sealed itself with solid mechanical finality.

“Access code’s the date of Turnover day. Zero-eight-zero-eight-one-four-six.”

“Easy.”

“Yeah, but I bet no alien kangaroo-lion is gonna guess it.”

“What do you think they call us?”

Roy shrugged broadly. “I dunno. C’mon, let’s get going!”

Amber nodded. “Right. Last one there’s a stinker!”

“No fair, you made me tail-end Charlie!”

“Yup!” Amber grinned at him, then dashed to the front of the line before he could come up with a retort.

Doug was seated astride the quad and gave Amber a nod as she joined him. “Ready. Just give the word,” he said.

Amber looked back down the line once again to make sure. A quick headcount told her everyone was present and ready, and Roy was diligently doublechecking that everybody was accounted for and had all their gear. It didn’t take him long to assume his spot at the back and give Amber a wave; all present and correct. She acknowledged the wave with a nod and then turned back to Doug.

“Move out,” she said.

Sjívull Wylderrjorssían

“The dwarves are moving.”

Sjívull looked up from his book. He hadn’t had the chance to read much since leaving home, between the pursuit over the ocean, and now setting up a camp. He’d brought the next two issues in a series that his mother really didn’t like, and they’d sat wrapped up dry in the bottom of his personal bag the whole way.

They were…uncultured. Unapologetically so. The paper was thin and cheap, the pages were printed by the hundred from carved wood blocks before being sewn together with thin twine, and the plot was almost nothing but action and adventure, with a little bit of steamy (or downright explicit) romance for extra fun. Naturally, they were wildly popular.

He’d lend them to Drynllaf once he was done with them, who in turn no doubt would hand them off to a crewman once he was finished, and from there the books would circulate among those of the crew who could read, and who’d read it aloud for those who couldn’t. But the pleasure of enjoying them before they got damp, tattered, frayed, and worn was Sjívull’s. Or it would have been if he could get a moment’s peace.

“Moving?”

“Yes, lord.” Gjeiron had the scratched and messy look of a man who’d just forced his way through dense brush in a hurry. “All of them. They put most of their gear in that strange metal longhouse and carried the rest off into the woods. They carried a few boxes on a wagon of some kind, too.”

“Where did they go?”

“Upriver somewhere. They won’t be hard to find; a baker’s daughter could follow the trail they left.”

Sjívull stood up and tucked the book into his bag. “Get Drynllaf and two men you know have quiet feet,” he ordered. “If they’ve moved, I want to know where to.”

“Aye, lord.”

“And I’m coming with you.”

“Aye, lord.” Gjeiron didn’t object. That was Drynllaf’s job.

Drynllaf of course raised an objection when they woke him.

“We don’t know these dwarves,” he said. “We can’t predict them.”

“All the more reason to keep a close eye on them.”

“Aye, but even more reason to keep you away from them, young lord. Them visiting us to talk is one thing, but following them into the woods? That’s quite another. We’ve already got one pack of motherless vermin out to ransom you.”

“I hear your counsel, Drynllaf,” Sjívull assured him formally, “but as my father says: ‘Good helmets don’t cover the eyes.’”

“Gjeiron is your eyes, young lord.”

“No, these are my eyes,” Sjívull countered and pointed forked fingers at his own face. “Gjeiron is my scout. A fine one,” he added, causing Gjeiron to swell happily with pride at the compliment, “but Father always said to know the difference. And right now, I think I need to see what they’re doing with my own eyes.”

“As you wish.” Drynllaf’s tone was resigned. “Halthri!”

“Yes, bjerkar!”

“Send a signal arrow if the marauders come back. We’ll be gone until dawn.”

Sure enough, the dwarves’ camp was empty, except for what Gjeiron had called their longhouse. Sjívull and Drynllaf lurked in the bushes, while Gjeiron circled the camp, checking for watchers in the trees, and on his all-clear the three of them stood and approached the strange metal edifice.

“Doesn’t look much like a longhouse to me…” Drynllaf muttered as they got close.

“What does it look like?”

“A ship.”

“How in the gods’ names do you reckon that?” Sjívull asked him.

“Just…a feeling. Look, there’s no posts or foundation, no walls or door. And the gods alone know what these are.” He gestured to a cluster of strange holes at one end. “But they said they came here on a ship, did they not?”

Sjívull considered the structure for some time. Drynllaf was right; it had none of the things he’d usually associate with a hall or building of any kind. Even if he allowed for the fact that it was all made of metal rather than wood and shingle, there was just something very un-buildinglike about it. It sat on the grass rather than being anchored in the earth. Still, it was very un-shiplike, too. No sails, no ropes, no oars…he couldn’t imagine this thing doing anything in the water except sinking unceremoniously to the bottom.

“That’s quite a leap, Drynllaf.”

The bjerkar just shrugged. “Like I said. It’s just a feeling,” he grumbled.

“A ship made of metal?” Gjeiron considered it. “Can’t be.”

“It’s a dull thing, isn’t it?” Sjívull commented. Whatever it might be, the thing was mostly a uniform bland grey, touched only lightly here and there with brightly painted runes he couldn’t read, or little red and yellow triangles and squares scattered all over it. Compared to Wavebird, with its lavish figurehead, blue and red paint, handsome crimson sails, and the fine wood carvings at the stern, this thing was bare and boring.

“Maybe their idea of decoration is different from ours.”

“I don’t think it’s decorated at all,” Sjívull replied. “Their clothing was plain, too, and in Roí’s case, much too small.”

“Aye. It all looked the same. All the same shade of green, same buttons, same stitching. I’d bet their tools and weapons are the same too. Don’t these people have art?”

“Roí, though. Why was his shirt so small? He can’t have suddenly grown, could he?”

“Young men do that,” Drynllaf noted wryly.

“Not that much! And in any case, you can let your clothes out, trade, or get something made new. Why would anyone choose to wear clothes that don’t fit?” Sjívull asked, then answered his own question. “Because he doesn’t have a choice.”

“Our smallboat is mostly undecorated, my lord,” Gjeiron pointed out. “So are the harpoons. And the spare blankets.”

“And they’re all children. Or at least young.” Drynllaf scratched at his mane.

“Something bad happened,” Sjívull realized. “They’re running away.”

“Godspit…” Drynllaf cursed softly. “What manner of ship sailing on what manner of sea carries something like this for a smallboat to rescue the children in?”

“What manner of people have children that make you and five of my men together look like freshly-whelped cubs? No insult intended.”

“Ember, too. She can speak to us. Can we speak to them?”

“I just about know how to greet them,” Sjívull admitted. “But what could have happened that people like that would run from it?”

“And what happens if it follows them?” Drynllaf added. “So I suppose the next question is, why leave this behind and go deep into the woods?”

“I think we’ll answer that one by following them,” Sjívull declared.

“Aye.”

Unreserved agreement from Drynllaf? The strangeness was falling like rain today.

Gjeiron indicated a spot between the trees where the grass and bushes had been hacked back and trampled down and booted feet had made a trail. He was right, a blind drunkard could have followed it.

It didn’t take them long to find their camp, nor long for the dwarves to find them. Right as they were approaching an oasis of sound, something large shambled off to the trail’s side and made its presence known.

“Hay.”

It was Roí, dripping wet and mostly unclothed, save for a tiny garment around his hips that just spared them the full view. He was holding that strange weapon in his hands, not leveled at them—yet—but his intent was clear.

Given that they’d likely interrupted his bathing, he was remarkably calm.

Sjívull glanced at Gjeiron, whose ears had gone flat. He shot Sjívull a look that said he had no idea how the dwarves had seen them coming and took a step back behind Drynllaf.

Roí made what was probably an amused sound and relaxed the weapon just a little. It was still very much there, though, and he was standing far enough back that he controlled everything.

“Wotdu yugize need?”

Sjívull caught the word “need” at least. He cleared his throat and took a half-step forward. He was on another people’s land now, and lord or not, when you were a guest in another’s home, you respected them. “Need…talk,” he managed in dwarf-words after a moment’s hard thought.

“Okaí.”

Roí gestured for them to walk down the path; sensibly, he maintained control and did not permit anyone behind him. Drynllaf held back and took up position aside and well apart from the big dwarf, which Roí allowed. Sensibly cautious, but not hostile, then. Good.

To Sjívull’s surprise, however, the dwarf spoke in a clear voice as though he was addressing somebody who stood right beside him. “Ember! Owrfren dzar ear!”

Even more surprising was that he heard Ember’s voice reply, but very quietly. Too quietly to catch the words. It sounded like it was coming from Roí’s head of all places, which was confirmed when Roí touched something small jammed into his left ear.

“Yuh. Sjívull antha bigwun.” He mangled Sjívull’s name, but it was still unmistakable. “Anna nuvarwun. Thrito tull.”

There was a rustle of foliage from the other side of the trail, and another dwarf with a weapon appeared from among the trees. Sjívull frowned—this new one bore a striking resemblance to Roí. She had the same dark hair, the same strange, pale, furless skin, and as far as Sjívull could tell, the same general shape to her face. And she’d been built in the same shipyard, to judge from the way she effortlessly made even Drynllaf look slender in comparison. Considering how different in both shape and hue the pair were to Ember, but how similar they were to each other, he wondered if perhaps they were close relatives. Siblings, maybe? It was hard to tell with dwarves.

Whatever their relationship, the newcomer said something to Roí that Sjívull completely failed to follow, and tossed him a bundle of light, shiny cloth. Roí laughed from his belly while she took over guard duty.

The fabric turned out to be a fresh garment like he was already wearing. It was skin-tight on Roí, and much too thin and small to do anything more than suggest at preserving his modesty. Not, it seemed, that dwarves had much of that; he’d happily changed into his new hip-garment without any shyness whatsoever. Or maybe that was just Roí. He was, after all, a young warrior. They could be strange.

Still. This new woman seemed completely unperturbed by his lack of propriety, meaning it was normal for them. She was either a warrior herself, or these people had very different rules about clothing.

Sjívull wondered if it was a display calculated to intimidate them. Roí was an impressive man, to say the least. He’d clearly gotten to Gjeiron, judging by the nervous glances he kept casting Roí’s way. Drynllaf was of course much more stoic, but Sjívull could tell his bjerkar was deeply aware of what kind of potential threat he was facing.

Both Sjívull and Drynllaf were equally concerned about the woman.

A woman-warrior was a strange idea. Not unheard of, but only in Sjívull’s favorite cheap stories. It turned out to be a lot less romantic in person when she swept her gaze over the three of them, and Sjívull met her eye only to find a kind of coldness there. That wasn’t like Roí at all. He seemed like a friendly man at heart. This woman did not.

“Thanks, Nik,” Roí said once he’d dressed. Sjívull recognized “thanks,” at least, which meant “Nik” was probably her name. Short and practical, like a lot about these people. Everything about them was undecorated and spare, especially compared to…

What was the right word? It occurred to Sjívull that he didn’t have a word to properly differentiate his own kind from the dwarves. Men? People? But these dwarves were clearly people, and Roí was definitely a man. He was young and…exceedingly powerful, admittedly, but a man nonetheless. And probably mortal. Every word Sjívull knew that distinguished people like him from animals, spirits, and the gods didn’t quite work.

He should ask Ember what they called themselves. Somehow.

They rounded a turn in the path, and Drynllaf grunted at the sight in front of them.

“Now that,” he said, “is definitely a hall.”

Sjívull had to agree. It was square, had a roof and windows, and was solidly built upon a stretch of rocky ground that had been leveled flat with mortar. There was a chimney with white smoke or steam spilling from it. They’d built it beside a deep pool at the foot of a waterfall, and the pool itself was currently full of young dwarves bathing and playing in the water. Wet clothes were everywhere, hanging from thin cords that had been strung between the walls and the surrounding trees. Strange lanterns cast a warm light without any fire Sjívull could see.

His suspicions were right. They were children. Adults were more dignified when they bathed. Ember met them, looking damp but wearing dry clothes.

“Sorry about this,” she said, and Sjívull heard both Drynllaf and Gjeiron make surprised noises. Her words were flawless. “This is the first chance we had to get clean in a…um…” she glanced down at the thing in her left hand, “…two fivedays. What brings you here?”

“We wanted to know why you’d left your smallboat behind.”

“Smallboat?” Ember asked.

“Carried by a bigger ship. For rowing and carrying stuff to and from shore.”

The thing in her hand made a strange bird-like noise, and she nodded at it.

“We call it a ‘lawnch,’” she said. “And, well, the clean water is good, but we saw you building…um…”

“Fortifications.”

“You mean a place to be safe?”

“Yes.”

The thing made that noise again.

“This place is more, uh…more saferer?” She frowned at herself and muttered something in her own tongue. “Nothas notrite…”

“Defensible?” Drynllaf suggested. He was looking around with interest, and when Sjívull followed his gaze, he could see what the bjerkar meant. Getting above the fall would be difficult, especially with all the thick underbrush up there. Meanwhile the only approach from below was up the trail.

“Defensible…a place where good, uh, fortifications can be made?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. That’s why we chose it. And when we saw you making your camp more defensible, we thought…you know more about this place than we do.”

That all made sense. She smiled and stepped aside to gesture toward the hall. “We have food. Would you like some?” she offered.

Roí had been standing by patiently, but at the mention of food, he bolted off at a dead run. Ember and Nik traded a look and a laugh that said a lot about their relationship; clearly they were as close as sisters. Certainly it was the first warm thing Sjívull had seen Nik do.

Roí returned with his arms full of strange packets like the one Ember’s sweetbread had been in. He tossed one each to Ember and Nik, handed one to Sjívull and Gjeiron, then finally plopped down across from Drynllaf and proffered one of the large packets to him.

“Aren’t these your emergency rations?” Sjívull asked. When Ember frowned and looked down at the chirping thing in her hand, he tried a different approach. “Your food for when things don’t go well.”

“Ah! Yes. But we are here to survive and making friends with the…with you might help us do that. Things…moved faster than we wanted.”

“Is that why there are no adults among you?”

Ember’s demeanor changed entirely, as did Roí and Nik’s. All three gave him a calculating look.

“You said you had a ship,” Sjívull explained, “and that down there is a smallboat. Your things are…basic. Simple. You haven’t bathed in a couple fivedays, and you are here to survive, you say. And you all seem young to me. I think you and I are about the same age?”

“You are…you see things well.”

“Yes. But you have not answered my question.”

“There is one adult with us. He is away doing something important right now. Roí, Nikki, and I are some of the oldest.”

“Just one?”

“With us. There are other groups. All over the land.”

“What happened?” Sjívull asked.

“You…might not…it will be hard to say it all. There are things you don’t have words for. But the short answer is, we were attacked.”

Sjívull nodded. “The short answer is enough. You have offered us food, and water, and safe passage. You are in trouble, and you mean us no harm. We too are in trouble. We must overwinter if we are to hoard enough food to get back home.”

“Overwinter…to stay here through the cold time?”

The holes in their words was frustrating, but Ember was sealing them up with alarming speed, and she never asked the same question twice. It was a little intimidating, really, but Sjívull just nodded.

“That’s right.”

“Please. Eat. You need to tip water into the bag to make it hot. Show them, Roí.”

What followed was a demonstration of nothing short of magic. Roí tore open a bag, took out some wrapped items, then cast around him, searching the ground.

“Needa rokor sumthin…”

He found a boot. He demonstrated each step he took as he opened a translucent green bag, slipped another bag inside, tipped in some water from a small metal cup, and rested the pack against the boot at an angle.

“Watch.”

It took only a few heartbeats for Sjívull’s ears to notice a faint sizzling sound, and a sharp, painful smell bit his nose.

“This will take a while,” Ember said.

“It’s…cooking? From just water?”

“Yes. Our people learned a long time back that some rocks, crushed and made the right way, get hot when they’re wet. It’s a good way to heat food without making a fire.”

“Which rocks?” Drynllaf asked. He was obviously imagining the applications himself. To be able to cook food on a ship without a fire!

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“Your people,” Sjívull noted. “I was thinking as we came up here, I don’t have a word for you. We’ve been calling you…uh, no insult is meant by this…”

Ember smiled and made a gesture which he took to mean he could say it.

“Dwarves. It means…well. Small people.”

Roí belly-laughed and stood, raised his arms and…

Gods.

He tensed, and his entire body swelled up with an impossible display of power. Sjívull had not picked an appropriate word, it was…no man he’d ever known could carry such strength on their frames, and Roí was built sturdier than them all. All that unbelievable muscle looked quite natural on his frame, and he was proud to show it off.

As stunning as the display was, to the “dwarves” this all seemed everyday and normal. Nik rolled her eyes, Ember ignored him, and none of the playing children even bothered to glance in their direction. Clearly Roí showing off was nothing new to any of them.

“Me, small?” With his point made, Roí laughed and loudly slapped his chest. “Big!”

“Short,” Sjívull clarified, and gestured with his hands to make his meaning clear. Behind him, Drynllaf cuffed Gjeiron gently upside the head, and the scout stopped his fascinated boggling, cleared his throat, and desperately found something else to look at with his ears at an awkward angle.

Roí laughed and gave the embarrassed scout a friendly grin. “Okaí datsfare aígess.” Whatever that meant, it sounded happy.

“Yookan stobsho wingof nao, Roí,” Ember remarked. Clearly she was very fond of the big man, in an exasperated way. He was clearly very fond of her, too, because he stopped posing with a chuckle, plopped to the ground with a quiet thump, and folded his obscenely muscled legs in front of him in a way that looked painful for anyone not a Dwarf-person. Ember met Sjívull’s eye, and a moment of understanding passed between them. Whatever else she might be, Ember was clearly a kindred spirit of some sort in Sjívull’s estimation.

“We call ourselves Hyoomans,” she said.

“What does it mean?”

She looked blank. “It means…um…us? We are hyoomans, and hyooman means…” she gestured at herself, the brother and sister, and the playing children in the pool. “Why? What do you call yourselves?”

“Men. Mortals. People,” Sjívull replied. “But you are people, too, and you aren’t gods or spirits, and Roí is a man. So I don’t think we have a word that means us in the same way.”

“Gods and spirits…” Ember muttered, then frowned down at the chirping thing again. “I think I know what those means. Uh, mean. But saying what they mean is another thing. They’re…bigger than us. In every way. Am I on the right path?”

“Gods are, yes. Spirits are…other than us. Yes. You’re on the right path.”

“And a mortal is…people like us. Not gods and spirits.”

“Yes.”

The thing finally chirped again. Ember looked pleased, but also thoughtful. “Hyooman is also a word, like a name for animals. It means both. It names the kind of animal we are.”

“You think you’re animals?”

“We are animals. We have…” Ember paused and waved her hand at her body. “Inside. The same stuff. What do you call the, uh…it’s like water, inside you? Red.”

“Blood. Yes. But…animals aren’t men, and men aren’t animals. The sagas tell us so.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t argue with the…sagas,” Ember said. “I don’t know what they say.”

“You don’t know of Tal and Ersk? Or the children of Ellith and Síllith?”

Ember glanced uncomfortably at her companions. “That one will be a long and hard talk,” she said. “For when we are better friends, I think. For now, we’ll eat and become better friends. Yes?”

“Agreed.”

Roí pulled his packet from the pouch and held it with those big feet of his while he laid out the rest of the meal. Satisfied, he tore the food pouch along its long side, unwrapped a fork, and dumped the contents of two tiny pouches and a small glass bottle in. One vigorous stir, and he lifted the meal to his face, sighing happily.

“Tur kee alaking zmaí fave!”

Whatever it was certainly smelled delicious. Sjívull needed no further prompting, though he had to admit the strange…materials gave him pause. The fork was strong, yet bendy, and much too light to be believed.

“What is this made from?”

“We call it plastic.” Ember opened her own meal, which turned out to be something completely different. “Another thing my people learned to make.”

“By crushing rocks the right way?” Drynllaf asked dryly and made her laugh.

“Sort of. Not exactly.”

Roí seemed a bit exasperated. “Eet!” he said in Dwarf-speak, and the meaning of that word couldn’t be clearer.

The food was…it was a stew. And yet at the same time, unlike any stew Sjívull had ever eaten. His was tangy and rich, with a lot of sweetness, and it was full of wriggly, limp things like slimy string. The result wasn’t unpleasant; quite the opposite. But it was very strange. And, frankly, a bit too rich for him to finish. He gamely ate two thirds of the bag, until his belly felt like it would burst, before finally making his apologies.

“Forgive me. You have been kind to share this, but it is too much for me,” he said. Drynllaf and Gjeiron both looked relieved when he said it.

“That’s…okay.” Ember shrugged as she tripped into one of her hyooman words. “These two will finish it.” She indicated Roí and Nik, the latter of whom politely leaned over and plucked Sjívull’s unfinished stew from his hands. “Do you have a word for when one woman has two children at the same time?”

“I think you just described my mother’s worst nightmare…” Sjívull joked. The chirping-thing made several noises this time, and Ember simply watched him with her eyes curiously wide. Clearly they still had a lot of work to do. “Twins. The word you want is twins.”

“I knew it,” Drynllaf rumbled.

Nik surprised Sjívull by speaking up. She’d been quiet so far, apart from that one unintelligible sentence to her brother. “Me first,” she said and made that happy-face expression before striking Roí firmly in the chest with the back of her hand with a thud. “Small brother.”

So. There was a warm person there after all. Sjívull smiled at her, even as Roí objected. “Baílaík toowen teeminets!” Nik made a retort, and the two descended into what was, to judge from the way Ember just shook her head tolerantly, quite a gentle disagreement by their standards. By anyone else’s standards it looked like a vicious brawl, with Roí quickly getting his sister in an inescapable headlock.

“Every time…” Ember muttered.

“I’m reminded of my sister, Feddra,” Sjívull said. “Eight summers old, but she can make worse cuts with her words than I’ve had in sword training.”

“The young lady’s a fierce one,” Drynllaf agreed with a smile. Feddra was betrothed to his oldest son Ejrig, and he was very fond of his future daughter-in-law.

“The twins can be…too much, sometimes,” Ember admitted. “But they are…they’re mine.” She scooted aside to get a little further out of arm’s reach. “Gaízchil. Weevgot gest sreemem burr?”

The sibling scuffle ended as quickly as it had begun, and from there…

…What had begun as a scouting mission turned into the first chance to truly relax that Sjívull could really bring to mind. He’d spent most of a year preparing for this voyage, taking tutelage from Drynllaf and the scribes, wisdom from his father, reviewing Wavebird’s construction, gathering his crew, and taking his first command…only to then be chased across an uncharted ocean by a ship full of suicidally determined marauders.

Now he had good, rich food in his belly, he had interesting people to learn more about, and here and now there seemed to be nothing in particular to worry him. Peace, it seemed, was on both his mind and the hyoomans’. His father would be pleased. Lord Wylderrjor always held that it took a strong man to forge a good peace.

Of course, he’d be worrying for months when Wavebird failed to return. But there was nothing Sjívull could do about that except make sure they would return when they could. There was a lot of hard work ahead of them on that account. The chance to relax and take some pleasure was more than welcome.

At least it was until he heard the shrill whistle of Halthri’s signal arrow.