Stephen Baxter - Flood

“And Lone Elk thinks a storm might be coming.”

“That’s the judgment he needs to make.”

“Look, I’m ready for him. Don’t fret, it’s going to be fine. Though there won’t be too many laughs. So you going to let me in? I’m longing to meet Grace.”

At the center of the tent, the roof was high enough for them to stand up straight. A single electric lamp augmented the daylight glow through the walls-Cadillac City had a mains supply-and there was a smell of coffee. The drink itself was foul, but Michael liked to keep a pot heating to drive out any worse scents.

Michael Thurley sat on his favored fold-up seat, watching a government news broadcast on a handheld screen. Grace was curled up on a couple of spread-out sleeping bags, drinking soda from a tin mug, and working through a homework assignment on a handheld of her own. They both got up when Thandie came into the tent. Gary saw how Thandie’s eyes widened as Grace stood up. Ten years old, she was as tall as any of the adults, tall as her mother had been.

Clean-shaven, Michael wore dark trousers, leather shoes, and a white shirt open at the neck with a loosened tie. “Thandie Jones.” He shook her hand. “It’s good to meet you in person at last.”

“You got that right.”

Gary asked, “By the way, how’s Elena?”

“Still a moody Russian. Last time I saw her was at Gujarat.”

Michael asked, “Gujarat?”

“Where the waters of the Bay of Bengal, having invaded Bangladesh and northern India, broke through to the Arabian Sea. Leaving India an island, you see, yet another landmark hydrological event. I can’t wait to get back to her.”

“I’m sure. Would you like a drink? We have water, recycled and filtered, and what passes for coffee. Or maybe you’d like some of Grace’s cola, manufactured right here in the city.”

“Cadillac City Cola.” Thandie grinned at Grace, trying to include her, but Grace looked away. “I tried some of that in the tank. Did you know they’re still manufacturing Coke and Pepsi and stuff in Denver? God bless America. Thanks, I’ll stick to water.”

“Well, our recycled urine does have more fizz than that stuff. Look, let me take your pack, sit down…”

While he fussed, Thandie approached Grace, who submitted to a pat on the shoulder. “Wow, you’re grown.”

“So you knew my mom.” Grace’s accent was complicated, basically American, with a strong flavoring of the Texan she’d picked up in the camp, but laced with Michael’s British correctness. And underlying it all was a more lilting intonation, a relic of her time with the Saudis.

“I only met her online. I’m very sorry about what happened.”

“I don’t remember her.” Grace looked at Gary. “I’ve got my assignment to do. Can I go to Karen’s?”

Michael frowned, bringing a mug of water for Thandie. “That shows poor manners. Do you have to run out straightaway?”

Thandie smiled and backed out of Grace’s way. “You go, girl. We’re going to be talking business here anyway. Get your homework done.”

“Thanks,” Grace said. She clutched her handheld to her chest and hurried out, pulling the flap door closed behind her.

The adults sat on lightweight fold-out seats. Thandie sipped her water, and Gary accepted a cup of coffee from Michael. Thandie glanced around the tent, at the Seminole rug that lay over the thick groundsheet, the plastic trunks and cupboards, the bedding rolls, the small kitchen area with their electric stove and grill, and the little crucifix that Michael always hung from the central pole, a symbol of his tentatively rediscovered Catholicism.

“So, welcome to our yurt,” Michael said in his dry English way, watching her.

“I’ve seen a lot worse than this.”

“I bet you have. Of course it helps that we haven’t had to move for so many years. One puts down roots.”

Thandie grinned. “And here you are in your shirt and tie, going off to work every day, it looks like.”

“Lone Elk likes a bit of formality. He is running a city here. Though he doesn’t insist on jackets, thankfully. I’ve worked my way up into quite a senior position, in what amounts to a mayor’s office.”

“Senior?”

He smiled.“Only Seminole above me. That counts for senior around here.”

“And I’m a lowly technician,” Gary said.“Mostly I work on the lumber collections, and the recycling programs. But I get to use my skills. I run a weather service for the city, of a sort.”

Thandie watched him. Gary felt faintly embarrassed. Maybe he had come across as too earnest.

Thandie sipped her water. “Anyhow I’m glad I got to meet Grace.”

Michael said, “Of course it’s been difficult for her. Until the age of five she was brought up by her father’s family, or a branch of it. An extremely wealthy family too. She had nannies, maids. They spoiled her to death. And then Gary and I took her in. I suppose we are something of an odd couple.”

“I’ll say,” Thandie said. “But I’m impressed.”

“Impressed?”

She looked at Gary.“You know, Boyle, before I came I never got why you stayed here. There’s so much science to be done out there. But now I see it. You stayed for Grace.”

Gary nodded, his feelings of defensiveness fading. “I was there at the moment she was born, in that cellar. There’s nowhere else I want to be but with her. Nothing else I want to do but see her grow up.”

“You made the right choice, pal.”

A gruff throat was cleared outside. In this tent city it was a signal that had come to serve in place of a door knocker.

Gary stood up. “We got company.”

Lone Elk arrived alone, though Gary suspected he would have a guard or two in the gathering shadows outside. Thandie stood to shake his hand.

The Seminole was shorter than you might expect, Gary supposed. He wore a straightforward shirt and trousers of tough artificial fabric. He was aged about sixty, his skin dark but not weathered, his black hair cut short and peppered with gray. He looked more like a Hispanic businessman than a tribal leader.

Michael served fresh coffee for them all. Lone Elk sipped his, probably out of politeness; the elders were used to better stuff than this. He and Thandie made small talk for a while. Thandie spoke of her background, sketched her career before the flooding began, and outlined what she had done since, her global eyewitness sampling. They were sizing each other up, Gary saw.

“Forgive me for prevaricating,” Lone Elk said eventually. “Actually it’s not my way. Generally I like to cut the bull and get to the point.” His accent was like a lilting Bostonian.

“A habit of a busy man.”

“But I know I’m going to have to listen carefully to what you have to tell me. I spent a small fortune in government scrip bringing you here because Gary tells me you’re just about the best in your field. We live in a world of lies, of denial, of willful ignorance. My problem is that I have to judge what you tell me not only on the content of your words, but on you.”

“Take me as you find me,” Thandie said evenly, and Gary sensed she was close to taking offense.

“Oh, I will.” Lone Elk sat back.“But what do you make of me, I wonder? You’ve seen the world. Did you expect to come home to America, and find your friend Gary in a camp run by an Indian?”

Gary had been surprised that Lone Elk and his people preferred to use that term.

Thandie shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I expect it? Everything is so mixed up now.”

“My people lived in the east, in Florida. We were among the first in North America to be confronted by the European settlers. It was not a happy experience, as you can imagine. We were hunted to near extinction in the Everglades. But we survived the dispossession, the plagues, the attempted genocides, the generations of discrimination.