Chapter Text
St Martin's, Scilly Isles, Cornwall
March 24, CY 1, 2012 AD
“Nal-heratha, everyone.” Garth Perry stood before the assembly as he had the day before. The diffused morning sun spilled through the starboard-side windows of Loriesha's Common-room.
Hayley Westenra stood near a wall with her friends from Celtic Woman. She figured “nal-heratha” was a greeting that probably meant “good morning.” The revelations of the previous two days still made her head spin. She smiled. Certain tensions seemed to have mostly evaporated. Morale was high, despite Orla's and Marido's lingering emotional pain. Hayley didn't know how long that would last, but seeing that the other Ingarians had healed from their ordeal five years before gave her hope for her friends.
“First,” Gareth continued, “Let's have a moment of silence for the deceased.” He bowed his head and closed his eyes. The room was dead still for what seemed like forever. Hayley was beginning to think Gareth's idea of a moment was rather understated.
“Now,” said Gareth at last, “I have another point of order. I'd like to have these morning meetings every day at least for the next week, then weekly thereafter.
“Second, most of you brought a few books. Wilfrid thinks we should maintain a library of sorts.”
The redheaded girl behind Gareth, whom Hayley recognized as Charmaini, squeed. It made Hayley smile again. Every time she started to dwell on the fact that the Ingarians were aliens, one of them did or said something to remind her that they were just people, too. Other people murmured.
“Now, we're not taking anyone's possessions. We're just compiling a catalog of what's available and who owns it. That way, we all have plenty to read when we're not doing anything, and the children have resources for their education. I'd like Charmaini to oversee that.”
Charmaini's face lit up and she squeed again. She flounced over, her ponytail swishing against her back, threw her arms around Gareth and kissed him on the cheek. Gareth smiled and blushed slightly. The girl clearly had enthusiasm for books. That made Hayley smile again. She was beginning to think her mouth might be doing calisthenics.
Hayley was really beginning to like the people whim whom she'd found herself. She'd somehow felt that from the moment they'd all rushed forward to help her and the other Celtic Woman survivors in Pontypridd. Their treatment of everyone in their charge hadn't changed. They clearly cared deeply about people, despite some of their strict stances on certain things. Though she had to admit that even those made sense, even if many disliked those decisions. Despite some of the grumbling she'd heard, it was clear that grumbling was directed more at policy than at Gareth himself.
“Speaking of possessions,” said Mari, “just because it's my job to keep track of things, that doesn't mean we should just leave our stuff willy-nilly lying 'round. We're not your nanny. Please don't expect those on cleaning rotation to pick up after you. It'll be your turn soon enough, so clean up after yourselves.”
“My daughter has a very good point,” said Gareth. “These ships are your new homes. They're also someone else's homes. Please treat them as such. Which brings me to my next topic...we're implementing flotilla-wide chores. Swabbin' the deck and such like.” That brought groans.
“Well,” said Sophie, “someone must do all of that.”
“Sophie's right,” said Gareth. “For the nonce, we're an autonomous commune. All for one and one for all, as it were. If you're unwilling to help keep us all sailing, land's that way.” He pointed off in some random direction. “Each ship will be responsible for its own division of labor. Each of us will post those rosters in each ship's common-room. Some of those jobs will rotate and others will be adjusted depending on our needs. For example, everyone will take turns washing dishes and such. Others will have permanent duties commensurate with their skills.
“We need better ship-to-ship communication. For now, one of us can either step from one ship to the other, or stand on one and yell. But once we're underway, we'll need something like semaphore and Morse code. Even that requires someone on each ship who knows those. It's also cumbersome.”
“Fortunately,” said Howl smugly, “we have these.” He held up one of the magic mirrors in its strange blue-ish metal frame. “I intend to make two larger ones. We'll mount one here on Loriesha and one on Amphitrite. Then we'll be able to communicate much more efficiently.”
“Will it be like on Star Trek?” Einion asked.
“Yes. It'll be exactly like Star Trek.”
“Brilliant!”
“But,” said Gareth, “we're still debating whether to mount them on the bridges or the common-rooms.”
“We may,” said Neil, “have to resort to 'rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock.'”
Gareth groaned. “He's been itching for more excuses to do that. Anyway, Einion has evaluated Amphitrite's water systems and has some preliminary solutions. He'll be working on that. We may have to limp over to Hugh Town for some missing materials, but that'll initially be between him and Mari.
“A few of you have submitted proposals. We're starting with two. We'll see how they go and then decide which others, if any, to pursue from there.
“First, Loriesha will sail up to Dublin. Chloe, you'll get to go look for your mum. It's maybe a twelve mile round trip along the southern edge of the city. Your team will be led by Neil. You'll have four others with you. Loriesha sails before daln tomorrow, so you have that long to decide who else will be in your party. You'll travel by foot and use an invisibility spell, so you'll need at least one mage with you. You'll go ashore at dulth. Your goal will be to return by the following melgen.
“Then Loriesha sails to Dungarvan. Once there, Neil and Marido will go ashore at lomelgen in search of her family. It's some sixty-odd miles from Dungarvan to Loughmoe, so you'll take bicycles. Your goal is to return within seventy-two hours. You also have until daln tomorrow to decide who'll be with you.
“Aside from the obvious, part of your mission is to gather intelligence. It's been a little over a week since the Shift. That's been enough time for things to begin to noticeably deteriorate. Any place that's going to survive will be in good shape. Any place that isn't will likely be in utter chaos. You'll all be armed in the event of possible violence. Please return all that weaponry to us in once piece, especially the bows and crossbows. Those will be bloody hard to replace. Blades...not so much, as leaf-springs are now a pence a dozen. You'll also have a magic mirror with you. You'll use it to communicate with Loriesha with status updates and whatnot.
“We'll be implementing some temporary personnel reassignments. Those remaining on Amphitrite will be mainly responsible for assisting Einion in any way he requires. We need the ship as ready as she can be once Loriesha returns. We're aware that in order to figure how long a project will take, we look at how long we think it will take, multiply by two, and convert to the next-highest unit of measurement.
“Oh, and speaking of math, do be aware that Ingarians do math in what we call base-thirteen.”
“So, yes,” said Neil, “in case you're wondering, for them, six times nine is, in fact, forty-two.”
Someone groaned.
“Any questions?” said Gareth. There were none. “Good. I hope all our meetings are this short. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd much rather spend my time working with you all, not standing here talking at you.”
The crowd began to break up. Hayley felt her heart sink. She'd hoped she'd be allowed to go look for her fiance Arnaud. In truth, though, she wasn't surprised her request hadn't been approved. France was a big place and she didn't even know where to start looking for him. He'd been on his way to London to meet her, but he hadn't said whether he was to have been traveling by air, by rail, or by sea. Even if she'd known that, she had no way of knowing whether he'd been on the move at the time of the Shift event. For all she knew, his plane had fallen out of the sky, his train or bus had crashed, or his boat had been set adrift. There were just far too many variables. It made her heart hurt just thinking about it. Whatever happened, she had to hold onto the hope that he yet lived, even if she were never to see him again.