Captain NorthStar Lightwalker's Arc

Chapter 7 of 14

The inspector's ship was gone, but the council was still coming. NorthStar walked to the clearing and saw what he had not let himself see. The long table he had dragged out was bare wood. A single dried marsh fish lay on a plank beside it, scales curled hard from the sun. That was his welcome meal. That was nothing. Near the table stood a cold driftwood grill, bleached branches lashed tight, stones half-sunk at its base. No fire. No coals. No cook. His engineer came up behind him and looked at the fish without speaking. "They'll sit down hungry," she said. "And they'll remember it." NorthStar pressed his palm flat on the table. The freeze pushed at his ribs. He moved before it could land. "One order," he said. "Send the skiff to the trade moon. Empty the locker. Trade the medallion if you have to." He pulled the strategic medallion from under his collar and set it in her hand. The leather cord swung once and stopped. She stared at it. "That's yours." "It's metal," he said. "The table isn't." She closed her fist and ran for the dock. NorthStar walked to the small mossy shrine at the clearing's edge and stood a moment with his hand on its damp wood. Then he went back to work. The skiff returned at dusk. A wheeled cart rolled off the ramp, stacked high — bread, fruit, cheese, bottles, cured meat, a covered dish still warm. The engineer pushed it across the grass herself. The grill caught fire on the first strike. The table filled. The dried fish went into the soup pot, where it belonged. The welcome would hold.