Under a Graveyard Sky

CHAPTER 19

“Chris, I swear to God I should have just kept you as a cook,” Steve said, wiping up the spaghetti sauce with garlic bread.

“It’s nearly as good as that place in New York,” Faith said, then grimaced. “Sorry, Chris, but…”

“Nah,” Chris said, taking a bite of green beans. “I know what you mean about those places in New York. Some of those old guys are wizards. And there’s only so much you can do with canned meat. Besides, much of it was Tina.”

“It’s great, Tina,” Sophia said. Stacey had stayed on the boat after talking with Steve and giving him her proxie.

“I didn’t do much,” Tina said, shyly. She’d transferred to the Cooper to get away from the Toy, which still had too many bad associations.

“I think I might transfer,” Patrick said. He’d been acting as assistant helmsman and deck hand on the Toy.

“Which kind of brings up the subject of this meeting,” Steve said. The saloon in the Cooper had enough room for most of the crowd and most people were done with dinner.

“I’d wondered what the agenda was,” Chris said, arching an eyebrow.

“This is Mike Braito,” Steve said, gesturing to Mike. “He’s the only survivor we found on the Victoria. Being a professional seaman he’s been a real help with figuring out how to board without killing ourselves…”

“Here, here,” Faith said.

“And in finding our way around the tug. Which is full of diesel and packed with stores by the way…”

“That’s good to hear,” Chris said. “We could use a refuel.”

“And being a professional seaman he also pointed out that since he was alive it’s not, technically, salvage.”

“I’m not saying I won’t share,” Mike said as heads swiveled towards him. He held up his hands in surrender. “I just wonder what I’m going to get out of it. Okay? Is that so wrong?”

“People didn’t ask what they were going to get out of it when they rescued you,” Paula said, snappishly.

“Yes, actually, we did,” Steve said.

“What?” Paula asked.

“Well, I knew there was a good chance that it would have fuel,” Steve said. “And that it might have supplies. There was an… There was an economic reason to clear it. Call it logistic if you want. But there was a thought beyond ‘might there be survivors.’ Which brings up the point. I am going to go right on clearing as long as it takes. And I’ve got some ideas about how to clear the land…”

“How?” Patrick asked. “I mean… That’s a lot of bullets. We don’t have that many, do we?”

“No,” Faith said. “We’re even getting a little short on shotgun ammo.”

“I said ideas,” Steve said. “I’m not really willing to talk about what they are right now because they change based on what we find. But the point is…I think we need to talk about the…the theory of this whole thing. I’m going to go right on clearing and saving people. But how do we make some of the decisions that need to be made? What right, really, does Mike have to that boat? I’m not saying that he doesn’t have rights. I’m saying that, face it, this is not before the plague. There are laws of the sea. But those have changed over the years. Forget the laws. For one thing, there’s nobody to enforce them. How do we organize ourselves? Example: I said that if he wanted I’d try to find him a decent yacht and he could take as many supplies as he wanted in exchange for the tug…”

“Can we use the tug?” Chris asked. “That’s a lot for a derelict. Does it run?”

“No,” Steve said. “We need to tow it to Bermuda. But we’ll need Mike’s help to do that. But the real point is, do I have the authority to make that promise? That was the thought that crossed my mind after I said it. Chris, when we found the Cooper, you were the obvious choice to take it over…”

“You giving him my boat?” Chris asked.

“No, but the point is I said ‘Chris, this is your boat.’ I said it. And I gave Isham that 45 footer. Is that my decision to make?”

“We’re sort of following your lead, Steve,” Paula said. “I don’t have a problem with that.”

“Uhm…” Patrick said, raising his hand. “I’ve sort of been thinking about that.”

“Go,” Steve said.

“You said you were a history professor,” Patrick said. “One of the groups I was thinking about is the Italian companeres.”

“Okay, not a reference I’d expected,” Steve said with a laugh.

“Companeres?” Chris said, blinking. “What?”

“Simply put, they were mercenary bands during the long wars in the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance in Italy,” Steve said. “They’re where we get the word ‘bravo,’ which was what they were called individually. It just means ‘the courageous ones.’ They basically fought for shares and elected their leaders rather than having them appointed or fighting for lords directly.”

“Ronin,” Paula said.

“Ronin were radically different,” Patrick said.

“They’re better known and there are some similarities,” Steve said. “The big difference being that companeres came from multiple backgrounds whereas ronin were samurai that lost their lords and had no one to be loyal to afterwards. so you’re saying we should vote?”

“I think…” Patrick’s face worked. “I don’t explain stuff very well sometimes. But companeres were one of the bases of the Star Trek universe system.”

“We’re all over the map, here,” Paula said, sighing exasperatedly.

“The companeres were sort of share and share alike,” Patrick said. “Which is how the Federation was based…”

“You mean the stupid liberal ‘we don’t have money’ bullshit?” Faith said.

“It wasn’t stupid,” Patrick said, shaking his head. “They had so many resources that trade in terms of money was left behind. Cory Doctorow explained it better in…”

“Stop,” Steve said. “You have already done two digressions. I used to think the Star Trek thing was an example of Roddenberry’s liberal side as well. But once I got my head around the economics it made sense.”

“It does?” Faith said.

“I won’t say it wasn’t pro-communism political speech disguised,” Steve said. “But in the Federation, anything was available at the touch of a button. There weren’t any basic resource restrictions. If you didn’t want to work, you didn’t have to. On the other hand, there was no economic drive to be, say, a starship captain. You did it because you could and you wanted to. The question I’ve always had is why there was a restriction on how many starships a group like that had. Why couldn’t anybody have a starship if there were exactly no resource restrictions? But that’s besides the point. And I think Patrick’s point is that as we get better at clearance, resource restrictions aren’t going to be an issue after a while. Patrick?”

“Right,” Patrick said, pointing. “That. What you said. In Starfleet you didn’t want to get promoted for the stuff. You wanted to get promoted to run stuff. To be a Star Fleet captain. Not for the money. About all you got in terms of stuff was a bigger cabin.”

“How did they do promotions?” Sophia asked.

“Uhmmm…” Patrick said.

“Through Starfleet based on presumed merit,” Steve said. “Which doesn’t help us. And it’s more than promotions, although that’s part of it. But on that point, when we find the next boat that’s useable, assuming we don’t have the question of legitimate salvage, who gets it? And who decides?”

“You do,” Chris said.

“Really?” Steve said. “Because the next person I’d give a boat to is Sophia.”

“What?” Sophia said, her eyes wide.

“Uh…” Chris said, frowning.

“Sophia?” Faith said angrily.

“She has more boat handling experience than anyone else we have,” Steve said, ticking off his points on his fingers. “She’s engaged in the program. She’s not only a good helmsman, she understands the logistics side. She’s diligent and people like her. She gets things done. Oh, I’d choose the crew carefully, but those are my points.”

“Okay,” Chris said, his brow furrowing. “She’s kind of young…”

“Yeah!” Faith said. “And…and…”

“Faith, you don’t even like driving when it’s your watch,” Steve said.

“Yeah, but…” she said, frowning.

“You want to do the paperwork?” Steve asked. “Figure out the fuel use? Try to figure out which EPIRB to do next?”

“Well, no, but…” Faith said. “Damnit!”

“How ’bout me?” Paula asked, cocking her head.

“There are other potential choices,” Steve said. “But the best choice, in my opinion, is Sophia. Actually, if he wanted it and agreed to fully join the program, I’d now say Mike.”

“Uh, I don’t want to clear boats,” Mike said, holding up his hands.

“Sophia hasn’t cleared an actual powered boat since we started,” Steve said. “My point is, Chris, you said I get to decide. Should I? I’m not saying I shouldn’t. I think, for now, that’s the way to go. But what’s my authority? What’s it based on? Saving people?”

“That’s a pretty good basis,” Paula said. “Why don’t we put it to a vote?”

“Because if we’d put it to a vote at a certain point when Isham was onboard I might have lost?” Steve said.

“So you want to stack the deck?” Chris said.

“Not stack the deck,” Steve said. “But who we get off of boats is a crap shoot. Do we automatically give them voting rights? How often do we have elections?”

“You want a charter?” Patrick said. “Like I said, companeres. And I was serious.”

“There’s no Starfleet, Patrick,” Paula said.

“There wasn’t with the companeres,” Patrick said. “I think… Okay, pirates, then.”

“Oh, great choice,” Faith said, rolling her eyes. “We’re not pirates!”

“When pirates captured a ship, they had to decide who got it,” Patrick said. “And they were freebooters. They worked for shares. The shares were based on… Actually, I’m not sure what the shares were based on but they voted on the basis of their shares.”

“Okay, now you’re talking my language,” Mike said. He’d been looking puzzled through the whole exchange.

“Go,” Steve said.

“Lots of boats, tugs, fishing boats, are share boats,” Braito said. “When you make money off something like salvage, part of it goes to the cost. Like, the food, fuel, some for maintenance. Then the profit’s split between the owner and the crew. Sometimes it’s not a direct split but it’s pretty close. Then it’s broken up. The captain gets part of the share, then the other bosses, then the crew. Usually it’s the captain gets twenty, thirty percent, the other senior guys, deck boss and engineer usually, share another twenty and the hands share out the rest. Newbies don’t get a share, just straight rate. To get to be share hands, they have to be voted on by the crew.”

“You’re talking about Deadliest Catch?” Faith asked.

“That’s how they do their shares,” Braito said, nodding. “And when you have something that’s a question that the crew gets rights on having a say, they vote their shares.”

“Freebooters,” Chris said, rubbing his beard. “Heh. I always sort of wanted to be a pirate.”

“What about larger decisions?” Steve said. “No, back to the point. Is that the way that we should organize ourselves? Does it make sense?”

“For this level,” Paula said. “But your point about larger is valid. We’re planning on being bigger, right?”

“And what about salvage?” Chris said. “Mike, I get the point that the Victoria isn’t ‘legal salvage.’ But we need those supplies.”

“I’ll share, man,” Mike said. “I’ll even help. But I really don’t want to go around clearing boats. Not my thing. Especially after sitting in that fucking hole listening to the zombies howl for months.”

“Fifty percent,” Steve said. “When we clear a boat, any survivors get fifty percent of the materials the boat is carrying for trade. Crew or passengers. If you were on the boat, you get fifty percent of the material. The flotilla gets the other fifty percent and the boat unless it’s turned over to one of the survivors for reasons determined by…well we’ll get to that. Of that, some amount goes to the boat that cleared it, some to the boat that found it if it’s not the clearance boat. The rest goes to support the overall flotilla.”

“I can go fifty percent,” Mike said, grimacing. “Do I keep the boat?”

“Mike, we’re probably going to be using it for storage,” Steve said. “Until we get something better. You’re not going to go hungry again. You okay with that? Being the base station? And your share is fifty percent of the materials to trade if you want.”

“I can do that,” Mike said, nodding. “Not sure what I’ll trade.”

“Okay, first, do we have a second that boats organize on the basis of shares?”

“Second,” Paula said. “Wait, are we voting on a shares basis?”

“Not yet,” Steve said. “We have a second. Objections?”

“It’s out of order,” Chris said. “But before we vote, what are the shares?”

“Figure that out after we determine if we’re going to do it on a shares basis…”

* * *

“Okay,” Steve said, looking at Sophia’s notes. “I think we’ve got the beginnings of a working governmental organization here. Each boat votes and shares materials on the basis of shares. Captains have the right to choose their crews. Crews can call for a vote of no-confidence and oust the captain but since if it fails the crew can then be fired by the captain…better be careful with that. New captains are sent to the captain’s board from the commodore and must be approved by a majority of the captain’s board. Currently, that’s me, Chris and Mike. Captains have pre-modern rules of the sea, but do not have the right of corporal or capital punishment. All lower order crimes, petty theft, assault, fighting among the crew, are handled at the discretion of the captain of the boat. All higher order felonies, notably rape, mutiny or murder, must have a trial by jury or, if that’s infeasible, agreement of three captains who have been shown good evidence. Captains follow the orders of the… Agh, ‘commodore,’ currently one Steven John Smith, captain of the Tina’s Toy in all normal day to day operations of the flotilla.

“Newly rescued persons do not have the right to vote until agreeing to become members of the flotilla and being accepted as full crew members. All large decisions are by vote of the captains board or all flotilla members, depending. More complete charter to be written up at a later time. Charter to be voted on by straight vote of all members of the flotilla. And I foresee a couple more meetings, at least at long range. Persons who choose not to be with the flotilla will be organized in groups and then at some point put off on functioning boats to do whatever the hell they want.”

“Shunning,” Paula said.

“Should such persons attack or steal from the flotilla… Pretty much all we’ve got right now is shunning or capital punishment. Cross that bridge…”

“Motion,” Chris said. “I motion that this organization hereafter take the name Wolf’s Floating Circus. Can I get a second?”

“Damn,” Patrick said. “I was hoping for Sea Quest.”

“Second,” Paula said. “Get me a screen printer and I can make an awesome t-shirt for that!”

“I think you need to call for a vote,” Chris said, grinning.

“I’m trying to remember Robert’s Rules of Order to see if I can quash it,” Steve said, frowning. “Okay, okay, all in favor…?

* * *

“Well, that was a pain in the ass,” Steve said as the Victoria dropped its final anchor in Jew’s Bay.

Tug operations turned out to be anything but straightforward. Trying to do it with an untrained crew had turned out to be a right pain in the ass. But they’d finally gotten it into place.

But they’d finally gotten the tug into place. Jew’s Bay was about the most protected spot in the complex of islands that made up “Bermuda.” At least the most protected that they could tow the Victoria into safely. There were some tighter and better protected creeks but there was no way they were getting the Victoria into them.

The edges of the bay were littered with small craft, proof that “sheltered” was a relative term. The tropical storm that had made their life hell had driven them all onto the islands. And while there were “open” areas, areas free from obvious zombies, on the surrounding islands, just scanning you could see zombies moving around. Not much and not aggressively. But they were there.

As soon as all of the anchors on the Victoria were down, the Cooper moved up cautiously alongside. The new crew of the Victoria, four volunteers that had been “supernumerary” on the Toy and Cooper started, inexpertly, throwing balloon “fenders” over the side. As one that was badly secured fell in the water, “Captain Mike” started bellowing from the wheelhouse.

“One of these days we will find real professionals to figure this out,” Steve said.

“That’ll be the day,” Sophia said.

“But to do that, we need to clear more boats,” Steve said. “As soon as we’re replenished… Back to sea.”

“Da,” Sophia said, quietly. “You’re serious about me taking a boat?”

“I’ll need to find the right crew,” Steve said. “I don’t want you kidnapped in a mutiny. But, yeah. We need captains. And you’ve got more experience than anyone but Chris and Mike. And Mike’s content to sit on the Victoria. So…yeah.”

“Thanks, Da,” Sophia said.

“Thank me after you’ve had the responsibility for a while,” Steve said, rubbing his forehead.

“You okay, Da?” Sophia asked.

“There are people dying out there, right now,” Steve said. “There were people dying that we could have saved a long time ago. I’m regretting just hiding for so long.”

“We’ll get there, Da,” Sophia said.

“Toy, Victoria,” Mike growled over the radio.

“Toy,” Sophia responded.

“Now that we’ve got this ratfuck cleared up, come alongside port. We’ll start filling you up.”

“Roger, Vic,” Sophia said. “Da, you want to get ready to handle the lines?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said, grinning.

* * *

“While we’re here,” Steve said, looking at the coast of the nearby island.

“What are you thinking?” Stacey asked.

“Nothing worse than going to a concert…”

* * *

Steve slipped over the side of the dinghy into the water carefully. All he was carrying was a pistol in the event there were some zombies around. Mostly, he planned on out-swimming them if it came to it.

“One last time,” Faith said. She was rigged up in case swimming didn’t work. “You sure about this?”

“I can see the utility,” Steve said. “I think it’s a good idea. If I can’t find any or I get eaten, it was a bad idea.”

He quietly swam ashore, keeping an eye out in every direction he could. The zombies seemed to barely notice human activity in the harbor except at night when there was light. Then they’d line the harbor, trying to find a way to the boats.

There was plenty of junk along the shore but what he was looking for wouldn’t be found there. He let his nose do the work for him, moving carefully through the sea-grapes of Gamma Island following the smell of rot.

It was, unsurprisingly, a human corpse. Probably a zombie that had lost the zombie-eat-zombie battle of survival. And very putrid. It was covered in flies, which weren’t of interest to him. But it was also covered in small black beetles.

Those he collected, quickly, and popped into a zip-lock bag.

He stopped as he heard movement in the trees and looked up. There was a zombie crouched under the bushes. A young black woman. She was regarding him ferally, apparently trying to work out if he was worth attacking.

Steve stood up, slowly and then leaned forward, raising his shoulders and grunting at her.

She ducked back into the bushes and disappeared.

Steve snuck back through the bushes, trying not to think about the interplay in which he’d just engaged. He had to pay attention to keeping alive. But it was interesting, nonetheless…

“Seriously?” Faith said, looking at the beetles crawling over the tuna guts. “That’s it?”

“You’ll see,” Steve said. “They’ll be useful.”