Against the Tide of Years Read Online Free Page A

got a big sailcloth order in for the new frigates.”
    The two Guard officers took their boxed lunches and bottles of sassafras tea to a bench outside. It was a warm day, for springtime in Nantucket—seventy-two degrees, according to the thermometer—and the wind in from the south smelled of turned earth from the spring plowing, a rich, not unpleasant odor of fertilizer, and a tang of sea salt under that. The airport no longer looked abandoned, what with the new projects; one huge shed was going up, the frames like giant croquet hoops spanning a stretch of unused runway that furnished a ready-made floor. Besides that, the scout balloon hung high overhead, looking like a miniature inflated version of the Emancipator ’s plans with a two-person gondola slung underneath, toy-tiny at the top of a thousand feet of cable.
    An ultralight was going up too, wheeled out of a hangar with ground crew hanging on to the wingtips as they wrestled it around to face into the wind. The fuselage below was a one-person plywood teardrop, with a little lawn mower-style engine and a ducted-fan propeller behind; stubby pylons extended on either side, bearing a brace of black-powder rockets.
    Jesus, I hate those things, Vicki thought. The electric ignition system for the rockets was . . . not very sophisticated —that was a nice, tactful way to put it.
    “You know,” Alex said meditatively after a while, “I’m a little surprised that the Emancipator got approved. I mean, it’ll be useful, having something that can scout way around and carry light cargo—and I’m damned glad I’m getting an opportunity to fly—but is it cost-effective?”
    “Not here,” Vicki said gently. “Not on the Island.”
    “Not—oh.”
    The younger officer nodded. Vicki Cofflin was the daughter of one of the Chief’s sisters, a much closer connection than his to the Secretary of the Council.
    “Well, let’s get back to work,” she said. “Don’t you love being on the cutting edge of technical progress?”
    “Damned right,” Alex said, nodding.
    Jesus, Vicki thought, as she followed him back into the hanger. I thought I was joking.

CHAPTER TWO
    April, Year 8 A.E.
     
     
    R anger Peter Girenas grunted as he lifted the gutted whitetail from the packhorse’s back and brought it to a nearby cache-tree. Two other deer hung from the white-oak branch already, and he quickly ran the dangling leather cord through a slit between the bone and tendon of this carcass’s hind legs.
    With one hand braced against the flank, he jerked the crossbow bolt free. Easier than digging out a bullet, and cheaper—it was only in the last couple of years that ammunition had gotten cheap enough to use for hunting.
    “Here it is, Pete,” Sue Chau said, handing him half the deer liver, spitted on the green stick she’d used to grill it over the low coals of the fire.
    “Thanks. Perks says thanks, too.”
    She laughed and nudged the dog with her toe. Perks didn’t normally allow liberties, but right now he was too occupied with the deer head to resent it. Girenas squatted by the fire to wolf the meat down; the smell alone was enough to make a man drool after a day’s hard work. It went well with the green smell of summer forest, the leafy-yeasty odor of the mold on the ground, and the spicy sassafras tea boiling in the pot. The rich organ-meat juices filled his mouth and ran down over his chin as he bit into the liver.
    Have to shave soon, he thought, wiping his chin with a palm. The bristles rasped at his hand. Or mebbe start a real beard. He’d tried two years ago, but it had grown in patchy, as well as three shades closer to orange than the ash-blond thatch on his head. Still, he was twenty-one now, old enough to raise a decent crop, and it would be a relief to stop scraping his face. Shaving in the bush was no joke, even with a good Seahaven straightedge.
    He was conscious of the girl’s eyes on him as he stripped off his equipment belt and buckskin hunting shirt and