The Last Hour of Gann (29 page)

She lay there while the sun crawled higher behind the clouds, wondering if it was supposed to feel like this. She’d had the implant since she was ten—God bless Measure 34 and Zero Tolerance—and
at the moment, she felt like she could cheerfully give up anything, even her place on a lifeboat back to Earth, to get the stupid thing back. Second-grade sex-ed was a long time ago; she couldn’t remember how long this was supposed to last, only that it would happen again about once a month for the rest of her miserable fucking life. Was it normal to hurt like this? How much blood was she going to lose? Was there something she should be doing besides just packing her panties with grass and waiting for it to be over? She’d gone to so many stupid seminars preparing her for life in a colony that were about as useful now as that solar generator they were lugging around, and she’d never even thought about reading up on what was going to happen to her own damn
body
!

Naturally, it had been later that morning, when she could not have cared less
, that Scott gave the speech Amber had been waiting for—the ration bars were almost gone and it was time to learn how to catch dinner. “Miss Bierce has volunteered to make spears,” he’d said at the end of it, and there she sat, hugging her cramping stomach in one arm and Nicci in the other, wishing he’d take that pocketknife he was holding out to her so gallantly and pound it right up his ass.

She made the spears. It wasn’t as easy as she’d thought it would be. The first set of sticks she was able to break off the trees were way too small once they’d had their points cut. The next set—deadfall branches she’d picked off the ground—seemed okay as she did the carving and heating, but every one of them broke when
Scott sauntered over to give them a practice throw, and as much as she’d wanted to sock him for doing that, even she had to admit he was right when he pointed out that if they’d break that easy, they’d be no good as a weapon. But three seemed to be the charm and the day was only half-over. The deer drifted back and forth across the plains as they had for days now, but never went far. It was almost like they were waiting for them.

“How are we doing on those spears, Miss Bierce?”

“I’m doing fine, Everly,” said Amber, testing the point of a hot spear before setting it aside in the Finished pile with the other six. “How many have you made?”

It didn’t seem to embarrass him. If anything, his officious little smirk widened. “You asked for this job, remember? You practically begged for it.”

“I remember. That was the day you called me a pig.”

“I did not.” But he looked to see if anyone else was close enough to hear. When he saw a few frowns pointed their way, he blushed. “Miss Bierce, if you can’t do what you promised to do, that’s all right. I’ll understan
d if your physical limitations—”

“Godammit, I am not too fat to make spears!”

“I never said that either, Miss Bierce, but you are clearly having difficulty. Instead of getting angry with me, why don’t you tell me what the problem is?”

‘At the moment, it’s the jackass breathing down my neck,’ Amber thought. Aloud, she said, “I’m just trying to finish this. What are you trying to do?”

“Have a civil conversation with someone who is determined to cause trouble in this colony.” Scott heaved a sigh. “There is absolutely no reason for this, you know.”

“For what?”

“This.” Scott waved irritably at the sky, as if her question were a distracting fly. “I get it, okay? I understand.”

Amber felt her eyes narrowing. “You understand what?”

“Why you’re like this.”

Had he found her pants?
Amber made herself pick up another spear, even as she told herself that this was probably not a good time to fill her hands with weapons. Fat jokes she could handle, if not entirely with good grace. If he pulled out a period joke, she was clubbing him.

“
I understand that you feel like you have to be a bitch because you think that people will take you more seriously if they think you’re strong.”

She let out a laugh before she could help herself. He hadn’t found her pants. He was just being his usual dicky self.
“I think we’re done with this conversation.”

“No, we’re not. This is something we should have said a long time ago. Amber.” He came and put his hand on her shoulder, did it like he was knighting her. His expression was that of a bold and rugged space adventurer comforting his distressed damsel—noble and determined, with just the right degree of pity. “We’re going to take care of you, Amber. You and all the other girls. You’re our most precious resource.”

“What?” she said flatly.

“This is still a colony,” said
Scott. His hand was still on her shoulder. “Only we’re not in it for the five-year contract anymore and you are one of only eleven wombs. We’ve been talking about this.”

“Wombs.”

“And we’ve made some difficult decisions regarding our duty here.” Scott ran his commanding eyes across his gallant colonists. “It may be our immediate goal to persevere, but our ultimate goal hasn’t changed from the day we boarded the
Pioneer
. It’s not just about living, surviving. It’s about preserving our lives, yes, and our
way
of life, our very future. Yes, Miss Bierce, we have a duty…and we’re going to have to be mature about this.”

“Says the man about to order people to fuck,” said Amber
, and quite a few people flinched, just like that wasn’t where that little speech was going. “Were you planning to pass us out like the tents or let everyone draw straws? Let me guess: Your lieutenants get the first pick?”

Maria looked at
Eric. He did not look back at her.

“You’re right,
Scott,” Amber said, removing his hand from her shoulder. “This is a conversation we should have had before now. Because it seems that someone actually has to point out to you that eleven wombs plus one or two hundred years equals so much inbreeding that it ain’t even funny. This is not a colony.”

“And what is it, then?
What is it you expect all these people—” A sweep of his arm included the whole camp, quite a few of whom stood quietly up and moved a little closer to him. Taking sides. “—to do, Miss Bierce? Just stand around waiting to die?”

“No,
Everly
, I expect us to stop standing around and start finding a way to live! Picking out who to screw ought to be dead last on our list of priorities, right after building a goddamn musical theater and casting for
The King and I
! Clean water! Food! Shelter from this constant cold, windy piss we’re stuck in! That ought to be where your head is at, not in my pants!”

“Oh believe me, nobody here is looking forward to getting in your pants.”
Scott gave that a dramatic pause, then added, “Although God knows there’s room for two or three in there once you’re out of them.”

“Another
fat joke,” said Amber, rolling her eyes. “If you can’t quit the name-calling, can you at least pick a new name?”

Several female voices called agreement
and a few of the men standing behind Scott slunk off and sat down again.

Scott
noticed. He glanced around, flustered and trying not to show it.

“You’re losing your crew, Commander,” said Amber.

“No one ever taught you when to shut up, did they?” He looked at her again, almost but not quite sneering, and dropped his voice until it was just for the two of them. “You want to call this a win, you go right ahead. But there is no future in all your self-righteous talk about what we eat and where we sleep. There’s a future in fucking. So you give it a week. Give it two. And then you get ready to spread that butter because things are going to change.”

He waited, just in case she wanted to get the punches started, but she turned her back on him instead, since that had always been the best way to chap Nic
ci’s ass when they fought. They both walked away, but it sure didn’t feel over.

“All right, people.” Commander
Everly Scott, in charge once more, clapped his hands to get people’s attention just like the argument itself hadn’t done that. “Volunteer hunters, front and center. Miss Bierce will be in charge—”

So it could be all her fault when it failed.

“Dick,” Amber muttered, picking up her last spear and throwing it down again on top of the Finished pile without bothering to test it.

Nicci came and sat down beside her, but she was looking back at
Scott. “What are you going to do?”

“Get a deer
.” Amber clapped a hand to her cramping belly and rubbed hard, giving herself something painful to feel to try and avoid throwing up out of sheer, messy misery. “Or die trying.”

* * *

Amber had made twelve spears altogether. Of these, Scott judged eight acceptable; the other four, he said, were good for nothing but firewood and he proved it by tossing them on the fire. Then he picked out the hunters, in spite of the fact that this was allegedly her hunt. It was impossible not to notice that he did not permit any of the Fleetmen, all of whom had volunteered, to join them. If he could have smeared her with fresh blood and honey and tied her hands behind her back too, he probably would have.

Still, Amber managed not to instigate another argument she couldn’t possibly win. She took what little she was given and limited all the outrage seething in her stomach to one small stabbing: She invited
Scott to come along.

She did it solely to keep him from stealing any time alone with Nicci and she really didn’t think it would work. She’d been ready to bully Nicci into coming with her once
Scott brushed her off, but to her surprise, her, “And of course, you’ll be hiding way back here,” really seemed to get to him. He’d replaced one of his Manifestors on the spot, although he was just as quick to declare he was only there in a supervisory position. The success of the hunt (or more accurately, she was sure, its failure) rested squarely with her.

They finally set off sometime in the early afternoon, which
Scott just had to point out was probably the worst time to go hunting. Deer came out at dawn and at dusk.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t exactly pull these spears out of my ass at dawn this morning,” Amber told him. “I had to make them. If you’ll recall, I asked for your permission to do that days ago and you called me a pig.”

“Miss Bierce, it is deeply troubling to me that you perceive every attempt to educate you as a personal attack.”

She wanted to
go on, maybe give him a real personal attack so he’d know the difference the next time they got to talking, but his Manifestor friends were listening and ready to repeat whatever they heard back at camp. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, but she was beginning to realize she’d better have more on her mind when she did than ‘fuck you’. So she kept quiet and focused on not letting her cramps or the fact that she hadn’t eaten since the previous morning keep her from walking at the front of the line and not the end. Her failure on this hunt might be unavoidable, but she wasn’t going to give Scott any help burning her at the stake.

The herd had been drifting further from camp all morning, but now that they were finally on the hunt, the scaly deer-things abruptly wandered out into the open plains and drew together into a beautifully obvious target. Watching them, Amber hesitated, knowing this was her chance but unsure how to begin. The spear that had seemed so crucial and so solid upon its making now seemed
woefully inadequate, a splinter in her hands. Could she really hope to use this thing? And not just use it, but actually stab it into something alive and moving and do enough damage to kill it?

And what if the deer-things fought back? They fought all the time. A handful of them were fighting even now, balanced on their long hind legs so they could slash and butt away at their rival. These blows did not appear to be very effective against their scaly hides, but
Amber was pretty sure they could tear through human skin just fine.

Scott
was smart enough to recognize a golden opportunity when he saw it. She could almost see the gears of his mind turning as he realized that bringing home the first kill after Amber had not only failed to hunt but actually failed to act was immeasurably better than just letting her fall on her face. He stepped up.

“I’ve got this,
Scott,” she said tightly.

“You don’t seem too sure about that. Okay, people, why do
n’t you two go around that way—”

“I said, I’ve got this! Come on!”

They started forward, spread out and low to the ground, with no specific idea of what to do or which animal to target. The scaly deer-things kicked sullenly at each other and gored the ground for roots, as oblivious to the humans creeping clumsily toward them as the humans themselves were to the dumaq prowling unseen in their own wake. They were close—close enough to see the golden rings of color around their huge dark eyes, close enough to count all three craggy claws at the end of each delicate foot—when Scott whispered, “Should we do it now?”

“No, get closer
. We have to get—”

“Now!”
Scott shouted, and all six of the Manifestors in the party jumped up with ridiculous cries of attack and threw their spears while they were still at least twenty-five meters away.