SG1-17 Sunrise by J. F. Crane

Author:J. F. Crane [Crane, J. F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Crossroad Press & Fandemonium Books
Published: 2014-06-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Faelan’s vessel, the Fánaí na Mara, set sail upon a too-calm sea. The sun had burned away the fog and now shone like vengeance on the mirror-flat surface. Even through sunglasses the glare was blinding. It was like nothing Jack had ever seen before, and from the look on Faelan’s face when they left the Cove, neither had he. The air felt heavy, expectant, and smelled of scorched metal. But if that hadn’t told him something big was coming, then the fat clot of black clouds squatting far off on the horizon certainly did.

“They aren’t moving,” Faelan had muttered, almost to himself. “Why aren’t they moving?” The words, which turned those clouds into sentient creatures priming themselves to attack, had sent cold fingers walking up Jack’s spine.

Now he sat in Faelan’s cabin, waiting out the Burn, which was harsher and lasted longer this far out to sea. The captain himself was off dealing with whatever matters needed to be dealt with on a ship like this. Eventually the door opened and Jack’s host entered, shucking off his coat and removing his hat and sun-visor.

“So you gonna tell me where we’re headed?” said Jack, impatient beyond the point of small talk.

Faelan ignored him. “Thirsty?” he asked, rubbing a hand over unkempt hair.

Though he didn’t appreciate how the man avoided his question, Jack couldn’t deny the rasp in his throat and nodded. Faelan pulled a metal canteen and two cups from a chest on the floor. He filled both cups, handing one to Jack, who took a sip and pursed his lips in appreciation. It was just water, but cleaner and less bitter than the stuff he’d drunk back at Sorcha’s shack. He had to resist gulping it back.

“We have more efficient desalination plants at the Cove,” explained Faelan. “What water we can spare we take to the people of the Badlands, but it’s never enough.”

“For a man of no consequence, you seem to put great effort into helping people.”

Faelan sat back, drank. “You seem fixated on my word choice, Colonel.”

“I’m just wondering why bother? You seem convinced this planet is going to hell in a handbasket. Surely a few barrels of water won’t make that much of a difference.”

“We have resources to spare. We’d be Seawolves indeed, eh, not to share what we can, when we can?”

Jack thought of the empty buildings he’d seen within the Ark, and shook his head. “So what else do you share? Food?”

“Sometimes. Mostly we give them fuel.”

“Oil,” said Jack, remembering the barrels being unloaded on the shore. “So you drill. Is that where we’re going?”

“We don’t drill. Those deposits were depleted long ago. No, Colonel, we hunt for our oil.”

“Hunt?”

“Yes. Do you have moil mór on your planet?”

Jack shrugged, perplexed.

“Oil fish,” explained Faelan. “We hunt them for fuel, for meat, for their hides.”

Jack drew back in disgust. “I’m on a whaling ship? And I was thinking you people were some kind of hippies.”

“You’re shocked,” said Faelan. “Your world doesn’t utilize animals for such purposes then?”

“No! Well, yeah, but we’re… selective.

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