Leda said, “Listen! Not to me, but to God! Sir Phillip died for you and Castor, and you stand here arguing instead of advancing his work. Would he want you brothers and sisters to shout at each other?” For a moment the Pilgrims were shamed into silence. “I’m taking him to the bio-reactor, where I’ll honor his memory by making him a permanent part of this place. He’ll live forever among the very plants and fish we tend.”
Garrett stared at Leda. Dump Phillip’s body in the recycler? It made practical sense to reclaim what was now just so much meat, but even he could see the offensiveness of treating a human body that way. He tried not to think about what he was holding. “Is this what you people want?” he said.
The Pilgrims murmured among themselves. “But she’s not one of us,” a young man said. “She doesn’t believe. Phillip cast her out.”
She said, “And here I take him up again, in humility to a man who saved my life and soul!”
They argued more with each other, but then they helped Leda and Garrett bear the body away. It went into the tank with a lurch as though eager to go, and a foul splash that churned Garrett’s stomach. Leda led a prayer. Garrett began to duck out of the stinking room; this wasn’t his place at the moment.
Leda’s dark eyes pinned him.
“We are gathered to bid farewell to a great man. We were all brothers and sisters in his eyes, regardless of our own faults. You knew some of my story, the hardship I’ve been through. I said that Sir Phillip saved me, and he really did. Look inside yourself; what were you before you found God and Lee? Sir Phillip made us all a part of something larger than ourselves, a group that was awake to God. Because of that togetherness, it was all of you who saved me.”
There was a woman staring at her shoes. Leda went to her and put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Even you, Sister Ann. You tried to help me, in your own way.”
The woman looked up with a startled, guilty expression. Leda smiled on her and said, “I believe that God has brought us here for a reason. Sir Phillip showed us the way, and we still need one another. We can continue to make the sacrifice for each other and for Sir Phillip’s ideals, to make this strange place a holy and glorious one. We can all be part of that future, if we believe.” She looked around at the sea of mourners. “Do you believe?”
There was dead, terrifying silence from a group of people whose guiding star had died before their eyes, fighting for them. A man whose corpse was being eaten by bacteria and fermented a few meters away.
Then that other woman, Ann, murmured, “I believe in you.”
The words caught. “I believe.” From one mouth and another, joining into a single voice with a rhythm that scared Garrett and made him feel he must submit to it or slink away. He bit his lip as the chant went on and on. “I believe!” He feared they might turn on him for his silence and indeed eyes glanced at him, and he could feel how wrong he was to be alone in the room not joining the movement, but there was only one thought coming from all those people and the words crested and broke just as the noise was too much to bear. He stood like a pier that’d been lashed by waves.
“Good,” said Leda, breathlessly. “Then we must regroup.”
Many of the station’s people left before dawn: people who were just visiting anyway, one Pilgrim with a change of heart, and one whose wounds needed treatment elsewhere but who swore to return. Eaton remained, recloaking himself as a tourist and business agent. Garrett wasn’t about to complain; he was honored.
Between him and Garrett, Zephyr, Martin, Leda, and the Pilgrims, the station was running again within hours. Little damage had been done, physically. Psychologically it was hard to say. A hush lay over Castor as people tried to sleep or work. Garrett would’ve preferred happy people and a sinking platform; that at least he knew how to deal with.
He made a statement to the Net via Samuel the reporter, saying, “We’re not going anywhere. Not one of our visitors was killed despite an armed attack, and now we’re prepared if anyone is dumb enough to try again.”
The radio crackled while Garrett was finishing the interview. The voice was deep and burbling. “This is automated patrol boat 2EOD9, ‘Odie’. State the nature of your emergency.”
Garrett left the office and looked outside, signaling Zephyr to ask if anyone saw another unknown boat. “This is Castor Station, and there’s no emergency. You missed it.”
Odie’s voice rumbled. “Voice identified. Is there an emergency, Captain?”
“I said no.” Silently Zephyr sent him a map showing an unknown boat to the west. “Are you a Cuban drone?”
“This is automated patrol boat 2EOD9 reporting to the United States Coast Guard. If there is no emergency I will withdraw. Confirm.”
How nice of them to drop by now. “Confirmed. Go away.”
Garrett found Martin on the deck and said to him, “First Eaton, now this patrol drone that happened to be in the area. What’s going on?”
Martin considered. “Drugs. The USCG is legally bound to stop Americans from getting high, and we’re becoming a known conduit for drugs. The pirates might have been hoping to seize a stash.”
Garrett shuddered. “They sounded ideological.”
“Could be both. There’s at least one major religion that spent its early years robbing traders. If we’re evil extremists then it’s righteous to hurt us, right?”
“If the Guard has a drone here, I won’t be surprised if ships leaving Castor now get stopped by the Guard, routinely, with passengers searched and property taken.”
Garrett said, “But we’re not in US waters! If any nation has any legal authority here it’s Cuba. And it’s not like… oh hell.”
Martin nodded grimly. “We’re pawns in a larger conflict. The States are asserting control over Cuba even before any vote to admit them into the Union. They’re claiming responsibility for air traffic control on the island too, and offering to hook up to their power grid and modernize it, and other semi-benevolent de facto ways to start taking over.”
“I hadn’t heard of the ATC thing.”
“It’s not a new tactic.” Martin shook his head. “Pay attention to these things! Anyway, thanks to your decisions, drugs are one of several excuses that the various powers have for getting involved here. If we don’t suppress the drug trade, the Guard will be justified in searching ships headed for the mainland. The existence of one uncontrolled place threatens the global order.”
“I have better things to do than debate drug policy.” Garrett balanced on his bad leg. “Where the hell was the Guard when we were under attack?”
Martin said, “You want this to be US territory after all? You want to go beg for help?”
Garrett shouted at him. “I didn’t beg! I just shot people to stop them from coming back and murdering people! My best living friend is a quivering wreck, there’s a God-damn international game going on that I don’t even care about, and I haven’t had breakfast yet. What the hell more do you want from me?”
Martin was impassive, a stone statue. Garrett wanted to hit him. Martin said, “I want you to protect my investment, and stop counting on me to figure out the plan. Do you think I’ve got all the answers?”
“You’ve been acting like it.”
Martin laughed in his face. “It was for your own good! You’d have given up a dozen times by now if you hadn’t had someone managing things for you, waiting for you to stand up, letting you lean on their expertise. Admit it.”
“So I came all the way out here and trusted you to know how we’d deal with the politics, and you were winging it after all?”