Randi's arms ached with that now too familiar strain and she pulled on the canvas strap in front of her. Behind her, her father, David, grunted as he pulled on his strap with his one good arm. Immediately in front of her, Marcus Butcher heaved on his strap with ease, his muscles rippling under his stained gray coveralls. As the gondola crept forward, everyone grabbed the next strap and heaved once again. Randi's stomach churned as the cart lurched along the steel cable hanging ten stories over the dark blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico, swinging sickeningly from side to side in the high summer wind. The gondola was a repurposed helicopter, a Sea Stallion, Randi thought. The craft had been gutted and fitted with a pulley system in order to hang from the thick, steel cable. The cable had thick, canvas straps every three feet along it's 500 foot length. Passengers rhythmically tugged on the straps, slowly pulling the cart along the cable three feet at a time. The cable was suspended between a short tower on the deck of the old cargo ship, "Timeaus," which Randi and her fellow passengers called home, and the forecastle of the Nimitz class aircraft carrier "USS Theodore Roosevelt," which they simply called "Mothership Roosevelt."
Randi and her dad both worked in the vegetable gardens on the flight deck of the Roosevelt. Fertile soil, piled four feet high in large, wooden frames gave birth to wheat, beans, peas, tomatoes, potatoes, cabbage, and turnips, with smaller boxes growing various smaller crops. From 8am to dusk, Randi and her father would toil amongst the vegetables, aerating the soil, killing slugs and collecting caterpillars, and rinsing the plants with desalinated water several times throughout the day. For this work they received a meager but satisfactory ration of food, a shared, yet roomy portside cottage on the deck of the "Timeaus," and the various services provided by people like Carol Laundress, who was at the moment tugging effortlessly on her canvas strap in front of Marcus Butcher with her big, beefy, white arms.
David Gardener seemed to be content with his lot. Formerly David Hunter, Randi's father had lost the use of his left arm fighting the local tribesmen in Guyana, just outside the fortress city of Paramibo. Four times a year, the Hunters would take the "Roosevelt's" one, precious sailing yacht to one of several known hunting grounds. They would spend two weeks hunting local game - deer, hogs, panthers - and hopefully come back with enough sea-salted meat to last the three months before the next expedition. Paramibo was surrounded by roving bands of savages, who would just as soon eat a man as a pig. David had taken a poisoned arrow in his left arm and been left with permanent paralysis in the limb ever since. No longer any good as a Hunter, David was transitioned to the Gardeners. He had had to give up his place of honor in the protected cabins of the "Roosevelt" but had been given one of the cabins on the deck of the "Timeaus," constructed from a large cargo container, as severance.
David never complained about his loss of position, nor the stark difference in comfort between a Hunter and a Gardener. Randi, on the other hand, was quite unhappy with the arrangement. She had been ten when her dad returned with his injury. From age five, she had attended primary academy aboard the "Roosevelt," learning English and Spanish, history, and mathematics. She had hoped to apprentice to a navigator and work in the watch tower with the cool winds blowing through the open window slats.
Instead, Randi's world had tumbled out of control when her father returned from Guyana. In the space of a week, she had left the spacious cabin she grew up in and been removed from academy; laborers' children had to work for their food after their ninth year. Every day for the past six years she had traveled with her father to work the fields aboard the "Roosevelt" or the container ship "Goodnight." At first she had cried and pouted each day, gaining her the resentment of the other Gardener children and the nickname "Baby," which she still hadn't completely lived down. Now, nearing her seventeenth birthday, Randi was depressed but resigned to her position in the community as a common laborer. If she was lucky, she might marry someone in one of the semi-skilled jobs such as Mender or a Baker. That would allow her to at least send her one allowed child to academy. Either way, though, she was stuck in her position with little hope of change.
After about ten minutes, the old Sea Stallion grinded to a rest aboard the deck of the "Roosevelt." The sliding door to Randi's right was thrown open by one of the deckhands and she and the other passengers climbed down onto the comparatively stable flight deck. Here the steel deck was covered in a black, somewhat sticky coating that helped people keep their feet in the high winds that blew across the ship's beam. Randi fell in step behind her father, heading toward Garden Box F7 near the control tower. Today would be relatively exciting; Randi's team was going to be harvesting the current crop of cabbage and then planting some corn its place. The fact that this was an exciting event further darkened Randi's already gloomy mood.
David was actually in a rather good mood, though he rarely gave in to any sort of depression. "The Hunters should return from Cuba today, Ran. We'll be eating fresh pork tonight!" Randi grunted non-committaly and nodded her head. She hated pork and her dad knew it.
Her dad didn't really care about the pork. His real interest was in the Hunters. He remained friends with them even after his demotion to the laboring class. Hunters were a close-knit group; in fact, Randi had heard that their spacious cabin was thanks to a protest by David's fellow Hunters over his eviction from the "Roosevelt." The entire community would have a big feast tonight to celebrate the return of the hunting party. There would be double rations of pork and vegetables, cool glasses of lemonade, and maybe even desserts made with Cuban sugar, if the Hunters had managed to trade for any with the locals. That was all IF the Hunters returned, however. The Cubans were much less hostile to outsiders than the Guyani, but hunting there was still a dangerous proposition. The island was all but overrun with the Horde. Then again, where on Earth wasn't?
Randi picked up her sling blade and began the back-breaking work of harvesting cabbage. She sank into the work mentally, handing the cabbages without looking to little Kara, an eleven year-old who still looked more like seven, who collected them in a wicker basket hanging from her shoulders. Every half-hour or so, Kara would say "Full!" and Randi would stand up and stretch her back as Kara brought them over to David and his partner to wash in the fresh water barrel to the side of the box. While she stretched, Randi would stare up at the crow's nest atop the control tower, watching the Navigator and her apprentice as they slowly scanned the horizon with binoculars, looking for the returning Hunters. Then Kara would return and Randi would once again hunch over the cabbages and begin the process all over again.
Randi and Kara were in the process of turning the soil in preparation for the corn planting when they heard the horn blare.
"The Hunters are back!" Kara squealed, an expression of joy on her face as she stopped working to look out at the horizon. Randi didn't bother; there was no way you could see the Hunters' yacht above the crops from this position. She took the opportunity to stretch and lean on her shovel, though.
David walked over and clapped Randi on the back affectionately. "Cheer up, Ran. We'll have a spot at the Hunters' family table tonight. You can see Paul and Jenny and your other friends. That'll be a nice change, right?"
He looked so hopeful. "Right," Randi said. She didn't have the heart to break her father's good mood by telling him how she hated seeing her old friends; the so-called friends who treated her with such disdain whenever they saw each other at church or on feast-days. They in their freshly laundered, brightly colored apprentice smocks, she in her clean but faded white dress tunic. "At least I'll get to shower and dress in clean clothes for the feast," she thought.
Soon, everyone went back to work, realizing that the Hunter's yacht would take several more hours to reach docking barge. By the time it arrived and the call was put out to help haul in the cargo, Randi's team had completed planting the corn and was in the process of cleaning their tools. Randi looked out at the horizon over the crops. Judging from the sun, it was only an hour or so until dusk. The feast would be in two hours, giving her very little time to shower and change, and that was only if the unloading was quick. She rushed through the rest of the cleaning and put away the tools, then took Kara's hand in hers and ran like a child toward the stairs leading to the cargo deck. "Come on, Kara, let's go see what they've brought!" she said with feigned enthusiasm. Kara didn't notice and giggled like a child as they ran down the stairs.
When Randi and Kara arrived, they quickly took places along a human chain, handing boxes and bags of food from the cargo gondola (another Sea Stallion) to Kyle Loadmaster. The old man kept a tally on a clipboard, directing his hoard of apprentices to place the cargo in various places, the organization of which was a mystery to anyone but him. Randi's arms already ached, but just like with the gardening she allowed her mind to drift and sank into the monotony of the work. That was until she noticed the girl climbing off the Sea Stallion with the Hunters.
The girl looked to be about Randi's age, with deeply tanned skin, flowing black hair down to her waist, and big, piercing black eyes. She was dressed in a grimy, brown, woolen shift and was barefoot but otherwise clean. She looked frightened. A boy stepped out of the Stallion a few seconds later and put an arm around her shoulders protectively. He glared around with challenge in his fierce eyes, which were big and black just like the girl's. They were obviously brother and sister, perhaps even twins. He too was dressed in dirty brown wool, pants and a loose shirt instead of a dress. He was also barefoot but less clean than his sister, with what looked like several months of dirt caked onto his feet.
Randi found herself transfixed by the pair. The frightened girl saw her looking, and Randi smiled at her and gave a little wave. The girl returned the wave but was quickly chastised by her brother, who glared at Randi threateningly. One of the Hunters came up then and spoke a few words to him. He nodded and the odd pair followed the Hunter to a flight of stairs leading up into one of the residential decks of the ship.
Randi was excited. She had never seen anyone new that wasn't a baby. "Who do you think they were, Dad?" she asked her father, who had come up a few minutes ago to join she and Kara in the supply chain.
"I don't now, Ran. Judging from their dress, I'd wager they are runaway slaves." Seeing her shocked look, he continued, "The Cubans keep slaves, as do many of the other Landers. It's just the way of things." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Still, the Hunters don't really have the authority to bring someone new to the Community. I don't know how this is going to go over with the King."
A lump formed in Randi's throat at the mention of the King. She had seen King Xavier only a handful of times in her entire life, which was very odd in a community of only three thousand or so people. The only times she had seen him were at the Christmas feast and once when he oversaw the punishment of a serious crime.
For a minor crime like hoarding food or fighting, a member of the Community might only receive lashes from their local Peaceman. Serious crimes such as stealing tools or murder resulted in execution. The last time Randi had seen the King was at the hanging of one of her fellow gardeners. Michael Gardner had gotten into an altercation with Timothy Baker, who claimed that Michael had impregnated his daughter, Sam. Timothy had gone after Michael with a rolling pin, and Michael had defended himself with his slingblade. By the time the scrape was over, the older man was lying dead with a gash in his throat and Michael was in the Peaceman's irons.
All the Gardners were required to attend the hanging. Randi had been 15 at the time and up to that point had not even realized that the Community executed people. She and Michael had been friends. He was one of the few Gardner children who had always treated her nice since she joined them. Randi knew, also, that Michael was gay and thus not the father of Sam's child. Who was and why she had lied to her father about it remained a mystery. Randi could still remember the cruel smirk on the King's face as he made a speech about the evils of murder, then kicked the stool out from under Michael's feet. Michael's neck didn't break, and his tear-streaked face contorted in agony as he slowly suffocated. Randi could see it all again right before her eyes when her dad mentioned the King.
"What do you think he will do?" she said fearfully.
"I don't know, Ran. I can't really see that there is much for him to do, now that the Cubans are on board. We can't afford to risk the yacht just to send them ashore, and he'd have a mutiny on his hands if he threw them overboard. I wouldn't worry about it," he said. "Now, let's get back home and clean up before the feast, shall we?"
