The Silver Ship and the Sea by Brenda Cooper Page A

and what she tells us. Which isn’t much.”
    I frowned, picturing Jenna standing with the dead paw-cat strung over her shoulder like a flour sack. “The first year we lived here, they hunted her. They would have killed her if they could have. I was only five, but I remember how much they hated her. Who knows what she hides, or why?”
    The entrance bells chimed. Kayleen glanced at us, then proclaimed, “The roamers!”
    Grins split all of our faces. Liam and Alicia. Story Night and then Trading Day. The deep tones of the gather-bell rang next, calling us to town.
    Joseph and Kayleen jogged back ahead of us. Bryan stayed with me, walking by my side. I appreciated the kindness; my leg truly wasn’t up to anything more than a slow walk. He linked an arm with mine, supporting me, and the pleasure of walking with him made up for not being in town before the roamers reached the science guild hall.
    As we crossed the Lace River, the sun touched the roamers’ wagons in Little Lace Park, illuminating bright yellows and oranges, colors chosen to show in satellite photos against the greens and grays of Fremont, so we could visually track them. The wagons looked like gaudy flowers from this distance. I stopped briefly, leaning on the bridge rail, watching the painted wagons, the tethered hebras, the few brightly dressed roamers who were still closing up, hurrying to town like we were.
    By the time we reached the guild hall, we had to press in through a crowd. Culture guild servers passed among us. Old Chub and his wife, Kiki, bent but still moving, slowly carried trays of roasted djuri, leavened bread, and fresh corn. Chayla, who lost a hand in the war, balancing trays of slim glasses filled with the traditional wheat beer of Story Night. We were offered all the food we could fill our plates with, and one glass of beer each. Long rectangular tables filled the hall. Someone had brought in shiny green redberry leaves and lacy cream-colored saw grass tufts to decorate each table. I spotted Kayleen and Joseph protecting two empty seats for us near the front. Holding our plates and glasses carefully in the jostling crowd, we made our way up to them.
    As we started eating, I leaned in to Kayleen. “Have you seen Alicia or Liam?”
    She pointed to the stage. “Liam’s been moving around backstage, but he hasn’t stopped long enough for me to get his attention.” Theroamers were the colony’s eyes and ears, wandering the continent for two things: scientific exploration, and foraging. The colony grew Earth-and Deerfly-based food. The roamers had learned, sometimes the hard way, which native foods humans could eat, like twintree fruits, and which would make us sick or give us fevers. They studied native plants and animals. Every year, they brought back djuri meat and dried nuts and seeds and fruit that they traded for corn, wheat, hay, chickens, and goats.
    They also brought back stories. The whole town came, hungry for the feast and the knowledge.
    The leaders of both bands of roamers milled about the stage, bright and gaudy in their best ceremonial dress, wearing red necklaces for the East Band and gold ones for the West Band. The band’s names had nothing to do with directions; I’d heard they were based on two universities back on Deerfly (we only had one university here, run by the science guild in the cold hall every winter, the lessons culled from databases and roamer papers).
    Before we finished half our meal, I spotted Alicia sitting with her adoptive parents, Bella and Michael, at a table on the far side of the room from us. She saw me, but looked away, avoiding my eyes. Her long dark hair lay in tangles across her shoulders and she wore thin, old clothes.
    I forced my attention back to my food, wishing I could just walk up and talk to her. Her family treated her like a prisoner of war. She joined community events, but they kept her by their side. Our contact with her had always been limited.
    Liam had it better, maybe