After the traumatic experience, Shareen’s parents thought Howard should go back home to be with his family, but the young man wanted to stay with the Roamers and keep learning. “My parents won’t care. Now that I’m on Kuivahr, I can learn everything about the distillery business.” He blinked at Shareen. “Unless you don’t want me here?”
She gave him a quick hug, then brushed it off with an embarrassed laugh. “Of course I… we want you to stay, Howard! You were the only person who made school tolerable. Just imagine how much fun we can have here.”
“I’d rather be with you too.”
When her grandfather stood on the decks of his Kuivahr distillery, he seemed proud and defiant, even after the horrific events on Golgen. Del was a big bearded man looking out across a kingdom composed of soupy mudflats. “We’ll come back and we’ll be just fine, by damn,” he said. “I’ve rebuilt from scratch before.”
“I haven’t,” Shareen said, not impressed. “My whole life was centered around being a skyminer. I knew everything about the reactors and filtration chain, Golgen’s winds and cloud composition. I don’t know anything about running a distillery.”
“Roamers have to learn on-the-fly, my sweet.” Del gestured out toward the mucky plankton-rich tidal flats. “Expand your horizons.”
“Does it always smell like this?” asked Howard Rohandas. He sounded genuinely curious, not complaining.
Shareen was glad he was still here with them. The odor did seem particularly rich that morning.
Del said, “What you smell is a wealth of raw materials. We scoop up the slime, process it, and make a fortune.”
“Or at least we make a mess,” Patrick Fitzpatrick said.
Shareen’s mother was more optimistic. “By the Guiding Star, Dad, we’ll make this the most efficient distillery in the Spiral Arm. Your granddaughter’s a genius. Who knows? She and Howard might even figure out how to make a brew that’s halfway drinkable.”
Del felt the need to continue his pep talk. “Our clan ran shipyards in the rings of Osquivel, by damn, and when we lost those, we moved our operations up to the cometary cloud. When I got tired of that, I went back to skymining. Then I served fifteen years as Speaker for the clans. Now I’ve got this distillery.” He stomped his foot on the metal deck. “And I’m damn pleased with it.”
Patrick pointed out, “Your grandfather is saying that he hopes you lead a much more stable life than he did.”
Shareen knew they would indeed survive. Once she and Howard learned the basic distilling principles, she was sure the two of them could improve the production operations, much as they had done on the Golgen skymine.
Marius Denva, the distillery manager, said he was glad to have Del Kellum back. Puffed up, Del said, “Did everything fall apart while I was away?”
Marius couldn’t hide his teasing smile. “Actually, in day-to-day operations we didn’t notice a bit of difference. I just wanted you back as our first taster to fine-tune that special eyeballs-boiled-in-urine taste you appreciate so well.”
Shareen and Howard made plans to tour the facility, and Toff wanted to tag along so he could tease the two of them, just like a pesky brother. But when Zhett suggested that he check out a mudskimmer and cruise across the plankton flats, Toff decided that making a mess of himself in the mud sounded like fun.
Instead of showing them the engineering and mechanics of the distillery, Marius Denva suggested that Shareen and Howard first take advantage of the extreme low tide. “Have a look at the distillery from the shore. Get the big picture. You don’t often see it so high and dry.”
So she and Howard donned work boots and protective jumpsuits, then went down to the water line. It was a hazy, sunny day, and the retreating water had left a foul-smelling slurry. They stayed on the support deck, wary. Shareen bent down to dangle her fingers in the muck. The greenish brown slime, rich with plankton, had the consistency of thick phlegm. “This would suck you right down like quicksand—unless the smell itself keeps you afloat.”
The distillery towered above them on tall support legs with retractable launching chutes that could be adjusted according to the rising and falling sea level. Howard drank in the details, shading his eyes to look across the tidal basin.
The Kuivahr mudflats swirled with colors, magenta and yellow blooms splotched the surface like spilled paint where plankton species thrived in the ocean interface zone. With each lunar cycle, the waters rushed in to flood the mudflats and stir the nutrients, then rushed back out again, leaving thick layers of plankton redolent with minerals and oxidation chemicals.
Mobile Kuivahr kelp colonies were like forests that migrated from place to place; during low tide the kelp anchored its roots and burst forth dazzling green and blue blossoms. From where they stood at the base of the support walk, Shareen could see one of the transient kelp forests half a kilometer away.
Howard extended his arm. “Look—are those Ildirans?”
Shareen saw the figures waving. Two of them jumped from the kelp island and rode floaterboards toward Shareen and Howard. Ildiran swimmer kith had sleek brownish skin, streamlined faces, and large eyes with double lids so they could see better under the water. The young swimmers seemed overjoyed as they splashed up silty brown roostertails and slid their floaterboards to a halt in the slurry near Shareen and Howard. The swimmer kithmen wore shells as ornaments and short breeches woven from kelp fiber.
Shareen whispered to Howard, “Do you think they speak trade standard?”
“Of course we do,” said one of the swimmers. “We were instructed to learn it so that we could work with your facility.” He flicked water from a webbed hand. “My name is Tora’m. We brought a delivery for you.”
The swimmers opened fibrous satchels at their hips to reveal packed masses of magenta kelp flowers. When Shareen sniffed one, her eyes stung from the sour garlicky scent.
“Special bloom, this phase, very rare,” said Tora’m. “We reserve most of them for Tamo’l at her sanctuary domes. They make good medicines and treatments for the misbreeds.”
“I read about the Ildiran medical facility,” Howard said. “It’s nearby?”
Balanced on their floaterboards, the swimmers gestured off, but distances were deceptive in the tidal flats. Shareen thought she could see part of a dome protruding from the water, near the horizon. “Is that where you live?”
The otterlike creatures blinked their eyes. Tora’m said, “No, we live on the kelp rafts. But we always bring in our harvest.”
The swimmers handed over two satchels of the rare kelp flowers to Shareen, who asked, “Do we need to pay you for this?”
Tora’m didn’t seem concerned. “Maybe. Not today. Talk to someone else.”
They activated their floaterboards and accelerated away. The playful swimmers circled, intentionally spraying mud all over Shareen and Howard. She wiped at the plankton slime on Howard’s cheek, but only smeared it into a pattern of war paint. He returned the favor, which required a response from her, and soon they were both a complete mess.
When they returned to the distillery decks, Del Kellum chuckled at the two of them spattered with mud, but when Toff came in from an afternoon of mudskimming, he was so coated with muck that the distillery workers had to hose him off.
Shareen delivered the rare kelp flowers to her grandfather. He sniffed the special blooms, wrinkled his nose. “Potent. We’ll run an analysis to see what they’re good for—maybe to flavor one of the really sour batches.”
“The swimmers said these particular kelp flowers have important medicinal uses,” Howard pointed out.