May 6, 2440 9:30 am
Jimmy Chakrobarty had slept, but he was not sure he had rested. The difference mattered. His head still felt like someone had opened it, poured in an alien language, stirred hard, and then forgotten to put everything back where it belonged.
The park at the center of the cul-de-sac had looked empty when he first stepped out of apartment 1-A.
By the time he reached the picnic tables, it looked like every V’ren child in Missouri had been released at once.
He climbed onto the lowest bench of the picnic table, decided that was too much like giving a speech, climbed back down, and then realized half the adults in back could not see him.
“Fine,” he muttered, and climbed back up.
A few of the older kids laughed.
Jimmy looked out over them and had the sudden, unpleasant realization that he was the only human present.
No Dave. No Annie. No Pam. No work crew. No one standing off to the side with a clipboard and more experience. Just Jimmy, his phone, his headache, and a whole cul de sac of V’ren families waiting for him to explain how not to die in Missouri.
Great.
“Good morning,” Jimmy said. “For those who did not meet me yesterday, I am Jimmy Chakrobarty. I am in apartment 1-A. If something breaks, if someone gets hurt, if you are confused, if you need to know who to ask, you come to me or send someone to me. If I do not know the answer, I will find someone who does.”
He paused while the translators worked through that.
“I am not Matt Marmaduke,” he added. “Do not come to me for large political questions, ship questions, legal questions, or questions about why humans do something stupid. I am seventeen. Most of the time I do not know why humans do something stupid either.”
That got a laugh, or at least something close enough to one that he decided to keep going.
Teash Jum stood near her father, arms folded, watching him with the same look she had worn the night before when he explained that Missouri used to be a shallow sea. It was not quite amusement and not quite study. Jimmy found it more distracting than the headache.
He looked away before he forgot what he was saying.
“This is a rural settlement,” he continued. “That means some things are safer than they look, and some things are much more dangerous than they look. I know you were given rules before you came here, but I am going to repeat the important ones because I do not want anyone hurt.”
He held up one finger.
“Do not go into the woods yet. Not alone. Not in a group. Not because you saw something interesting. Not because one of the older children said it was fine. The woods are not evil. The woods are not forbidden forever. The woods are full of things you do not know how to see yet.”
He held up a second finger.
“Do not go to the river yet. The river is beautiful. The river is useful. The river has currents, mud, drop-offs, snakes, turtles with bad manners, and any combination of things that could kill you. I had a friend when I was about this tall,” he said, putting out a hand about waist high. He drowned in the river not 30 minutes’ walk from here.
Several adults exchanged looks as the translator finished.
“Third,” he said. “Do not pick up snakes.”
One of the little boys in the front row immediately looked disappointed.
Jimmy pointed at him. “Especially you.”
The boy blinked.
“I do not know your name yet, but I know that look. That is a snake-picking-up look.”
The boy’s mother put both hands on his shoulders.
“Some snakes are harmless. Some are not. You do not know which are which. I do. People who know can move them if they need moving. You cannot. Do not pick up snakes.”
He held up another finger.
“Do not try to pet skunks.”
Several families turned toward the duplex where last night’s disaster had happened. A couple of older children groaned. He thought he saw one particular green girl go a little purple and wondered if that was what it looked like when v’ren girls blushed.
Jimmy tried not to smile and failed.
“Yes. I know some of you have already learned that. Skunks are not friendly cats. They are not striped pets. They are not gifts from your new planet. If a skunk raises its tail, you have already made poor choices.”
Nïce Solen covered his mouth. Yet Jum’s shoulders shook.
“The correct response to seeing a skunk is to walk away slowly and tell an adult. The incorrect response is to follow it, touch it, corner it, scream at it, or bring it inside because it looks lonely.”
The woman holding the dandelion-eating toddler looked down at the child in her arms as if suddenly imagining new possibilities for disaster.
“Fifth,” Jimmy said, turning toward the road. “Delivery trucks will be moving through here all day. The drivers are careful, but they cannot see everything. Do not stand behind trucks. Do not sit on the curb with your feet in the road. Do not climb into a truck bed. Do not play under trailers. If someone yells for you to move, move first and ask why after.”
That one sobered the group.
Good, Jimmy thought. Skunks were funny after the fact. Trucks were not.
“I know many of your children are used to helping,” he said. “That is good. We need help. Children can help with work if the work is safe, if the child understands what they are doing, and if someone responsible knows where they are. If you do not want your child helping, tell me. If you do want your child helping, still tell me, because I need to know who belongs where.”
He felt proud of that.
It sounded organized.
He did not yet know it was not organized enough.
A small hand went up in the front.
“Yes?”
The child asked something too fast for Jimmy’s tired brain to catch. The translator gave him, “May we touch the grass?”
“Yes,” Jimmy said. “You may touch the grass. You may sit in the grass. You may roll in the grass if your adults do not object. Do not eat the grass.”
Another hand.
“May we climb trees?”
Jimmy looked at the trees. They were young and not that tall, but there were enough children here that the trees were going to lose the argument eventually.
“Small trees only if another responsible adult or I say that tree is safe. Not the new ones. Not the ones with supports. Not anything near the road. And if you fall, do not pretend you did not fall. Tell someone.”
Another hand.
“May we keep rocks?”
Teash looked directly at him.
Jimmy felt his ears get hot.
“Reasonable rocks, yes,” he said. “Not rocks from someone’s garden. Not rocks from the road. Not rocks that are holding something down. If you find something strange, bring it to Teash Jum, or to me because she knows more about rocks than I do. Also, do not try to move or push big rocks around; you don’t know what is under them. It might be a skunk’s home.”
Teash’s eyebrows lifted.
That had not been planned. It was true, though, and from the small smile on her face she did not seem offended.
“Speaking of work,” Jimmy said, eager to move on before every adult in the park decided he was courting in public. “I am authorized to hire a few people for community work. Not many yet. Groundskeeping, landscaping, and basic maintenance training. We need people who can learn tools, show up when they say they will, follow safety rules, and tell me when they do not understand something.”
The air changed.
The V’ren adults had been listening because their children mattered. Now they listened because work mattered.
“This is paid work,” Jimmy said. “It is not charity. If I hire you, you work for me while you are on that crew.”
Good.
Maybe.
“I will take names after the meeting. I need people willing to start with simple things. Trash pickup. Brush clearing. Learning where water shutoffs are. Learning what not to touch. Reporting problems before they become messy or expensive. Later, some of you may train into maintenance work. I do not care what caste you were. I care if you can do the work and not get yourself or someone else hurt.”
The words got very quiet after translation.
Jimmy waited.
He had learned enough already to know that some silences meant confusion, some meant offense, and some meant people had heard something larger than he meant to say.
This felt like the third kind.
“I am not trying to insult anyone,” he said carefully. “I am saying this place has different needs. If you can learn, we can use you.”
R’vel H’tash stood near the back with several women from her family. She gave him a small approving nod, which made him feel better than it probably should have.
He took a breath and kept going.
“Now, household issues. If your sink leaks, tell me. If your toilet does something strange, tell me. If your lights do not work, tell me. If an appliance makes smoke, screams, sparks, or smells like burning, turn it off if you can do that safely, then tell me.”
A V’ren man raised his hand.
“What if the appliance is meant to heat?”
“Good question,” Jimmy said. “If it smells like food, probably fine. If it smells like lightning, bad. If you are unsure, tell me.”
The man considered that, then nodded as if “smells like lightning” was a technical category.
“Trash goes in the bins. Food waste goes in the marked cans. Do not leave food outside. There are animals here that will take that as an invitation. Some are cute. Some are not. Some are skunks.” That got serious looks. He would explain about possums and raccoons later.
He glanced toward the children.
“That includes raccoons. If you see little hands in a trash can at night, that is not a lost child.”
The V’ren adults stared at him.
Jimmy sighed. “I will explain raccoons later.”
That, for some reason, got a laugh.
He pointed toward the row of duplexes.
“Laundry machines are inside your homes. If you do not know how to use them, ask. Do not guess. Guessing is how machines flood houses.”
He pointed toward the apartment block.
“Apartment residents, I will come through this afternoon and check that everyone has what they need. If you are missing bedding, dishes, towels, medicine, baby supplies, or anything like that, tell me then. If you need it before then, send someone to 1-A.”
A girl near the front said something to another girl. Both giggled.
Jimmy had no idea whether it was about him or not. At seventeen, he assumed it was safest to believe girls were laughing at you and keep moving, while casually checking his fly.
“Children,” he said, making his voice firmer. “You can play. You should play. This is your home now, and homes need children running around or they get strange. But stay where adults can find you. If someone calls for you, answer. If you are going to help someone, tell an adult first.”
He thought that covered it.
He really did.
“Older kids, help the younger ones learn. Do not scare them. Do not dare them to do stupid things. Do not teach them bad earth words before I learn enough V’ren to know what you are saying.”
Several older children looked personally attacked.
Jimmy pointed at them. “Yes, you.”
That got another laugh, and the tightness eased.
He looked over the park, over families still wearing exhaustion like a second skin, over fathers with babies in their arms and mothers counting children by touch, over old people sitting on folding chairs dragged out of new homes, over teenagers trying to look unimpressed by everything and failing whenever a bird got too close.
Yesterday these people had been passengers and refugees and lists on someone else’s screen.
Today they were his problem.
No, he corrected himself, looking at Teash before he could stop himself.
His community.
“All right,” he said. “That is enough from me. I will be here for questions. People interested in the work crew, line up by the table. Everyone else, please be patient with the deliveries. We have a lot coming in today, and nobody gets everything first.”
He stepped down from the bench and nearly tripped because his left foot had fallen asleep.
The older kids definitely laughed that time.
Jimmy pretended not to notice.
Teash came over as the crowd began breaking into smaller family clusters.
“You speak well when you are tired,” she said.
“I speak longer when I am tired. I don’t know if that is the same thing.”
“It is not,” she said. “But today it worked.”
“High praise.”
“It was meant as praise.”
“I’ll take it then.”
She glanced toward the line already forming by the table. “You will hire them?”
“A few of them.”
Teash studied him for a long moment.
Then a little boy shrieked, “Snake!”
Jimmy closed his eyes.
“Please be a stick,” he whispered.
It was a stick.
For the next hour, that felt like victory.
