The corner rose late on the first swell of the morning.
Adam felt it under his feet before he saw it move.
The raft held together, but the gap beside the planter opened wide enough to show water.
[Health 90% | Hunger 52% | Thirst 72% | Stamina 38%]
His ribs hurt when he bent.
The bruises on his knees had darkened overnight.
He knelt anyway and pulled at the loose corner.
The rope joining it to the next tile had stretched during the storm.
One knot had slipped almost to the end.
Another hard wave could finish the job.
He had two good ropes left.
One had been his lifeline yesterday.
He used the other to tie the corner to its neighbours, pulling the tiles level before he tightened it.
The old rope was still caught underneath; he left it where it was.
When the next swell passed, all seven tiles rose together.
[Starting Raft.
Tiles: 7.
Buoyancy: 525 kg.
Stability: Low.]
One rope left.
He put it beside the shade post where he could reach it.
His first repair had stopped the corner moving; it had done nothing for the broken purifier.
The old box held rainwater mixed with seawater.
He emptied it over the side and rinsed the basin with a little clean water.
The clear sheet above it had two long tears.
The panel offered a repair for one Plastic, and he had three.
He laid a piece against the sheet and confirmed.
The plastic spread across the breaks.
For a few minutes he watched the edges draw together while the new sheet tightened over the box.
There was no need to shape it by hand.
When it stopped moving, the panel changed.
[Basic Water Purifier 178/200.
Sheet repaired.
Output: Ready.]
The second purifier had survived untouched.
Adam filled both intakes with the bucket.
The cloud thinned enough to put light on the sheets, and a few drops began to run into the basins.
Twelve units a day again, if the sun held.
He had twelve stored from before the storm and no food.
The line came through Regional while he was putting the bucket down.
[Reeve] Chloe and me are coming east.
Need to see your raft after yesterday.
Three hours if this swell behaves.
[ChloeB] he says three hours.
I say four.
I’m rowing too but apparently I do it wrong
[Reeve] You row in circles.
[ChloeB] we still end up going east
Adam answered with the only useful position he had: the torn white sheet was repaired, the shade still stood, and he could see a strip of red plastic caught in the water to his north.
He left out his exact drift.
Reeve already knew the current, and the red scrap would be gone before anybody farther away could use it.
[Kessler] Seven tiles, two purifiers, shade.
Red plastic about fifty metres north.
I’m staying put.
[Reeve] Keep an eye west.
And drink something.
Adam drank a bottle.
He did not reply to that part.
He took the fishing line out, but the swell still lifted the raft too sharply for him to work the hook.
His knees protested when he tried to sit on the edge.
He put the line away, checked the planter and ate nothing.
The four radish seeds were still under the damp kelp.
A fifth day would not make them food.
The first unit from the repaired box arrived late.
Adam poured it into the empty bottle he had just drunk from and refilled the intake.
The two purifiers worked through breaks in the cloud, slower than they would in full sun.
He drank the other bottle of rainwater while he waited.
As more Water collected, he filled three more empty bottles, one litre in each.
One loose bottle tapped against the shade post.
He tightened the strip around its neck, then sat where he could see west.
Three dark marks appeared in that direction a little after noon.
At first they looked like scattered junk.
Two moved as one, with a narrow space between them, and something dipped into the water on either side.
Oars.
The third mark was a person standing in a green top.
Reeve stopped rowing when they were close enough for Adam to hear Chloe talking.
She was giving him distances he could see for himself.
He made one last pull and let the two rafts drift alongside Adam’s wider one.
The older man’s hands stayed on the oars after the blades left the water.
His face was red from the sun, but around his mouth he had gone grey.
He had rowed two rafts through the swell for hours after spending yesterday looking for Chloe.
Chloe caught one of Harlan’s spare ropes.
She was small, with a sunburnt nose and dark hair tied in a plait.
The green top was faded almost white at the shoulders.
She looped the rope through the edge of her raft and held it while Reeve made his way over the gap.
“Harlan, sit down,” she said.
Reeve sat heavily on Adam’s edge.
Harlan, then.
Adam had known him only by the name on the panel.
One knee stayed straight as the other bent, and he rubbed it before he looked up.
“You’re Kessler.” Harlan glanced at the two purifiers.
“You did build two.
Thought you were boasting.”
“I couldn’t afford to boast about water.”
“Most people can’t.
Doesn’t stop them.”
Chloe came across after him with a small tin tied to her wrist.
“I’m Chloe.
You know that.
He’s Harlan Reeve, and if he tells you his knee’s fine, he means he doesn’t want to hear about it.
Is that the planter?
Mine’s still in a bottle.”
She went towards the box, then stopped when Adam pointed out the soft corner beside it.
The new rope held, but he wanted another calm day before anyone put weight there.
Chloe crouched by the planter instead.
The kelp was damp; nothing had come up yet.
“Mine got a head start in a bottle,” she said.
“They don’t look very happy about it.”
She showed him her tin.
Packets of radish, lettuce and broad bean seeds were packed inside, with three pale seedlings in a bottle tied beside it.
The seedlings leaned toward the light.
Their stems were thin.
The panel still called Adam’s planter medium Poor and its harvest distant.
“They grew before I found anything decent to put them in,” she said.
“I didn’t want to throw them away.”
“Keep them wet,” Adam said.
“I might have something for the medium tomorrow.”
Adam looked at Chloe’s seedlings again.
His planter was full, and he had no spare growing medium to offer.
She put the tin back against her wrist and helped Harlan stand.
The fish lay in a covered box on Harlan’s raft.
He had tied a net in a loose heap beside it, grey rope knotted into squares.
Twelve coils had gone into making it, he said, and it caught more than his old line ever had.
The catch was eight silverfish, cleaned but raw, and another small one he set aside for the cook stand.
“Four water for the eight,” Harlan said.
“That was the price.
The little one’s dinner.”
Adam filled each of four 1 L bottles Harlan had brought empty with one unit of Water from the jerrycan.
Harlan counted them and passed over the eight fish.
Neither opened the Barter tab.
Chloe carried the fish to the cook stand.
By dusk the purifiers had produced four units through the cloud.
Adam had drunk two.
His jerrycan held six litres, and four of his own 1 L bottles held the new Water: ten litres remained aboard.
The small fish cooked while they dealt with the rafts.
Adam’s seven tiles could sit between Harlan’s raft and Chloe’s.
Harlan had already tied his to hers, but the rope they had used after the storm had rubbed against a sharp board.
They changed its position before bringing Adam in.
Chloe held the rafts steady with the paddle while Harlan and Adam used Harlan’s spare ropes to tie the outer edges to Adam’s raft.
Harlan checked the knots by pulling on each rope; Adam watched the corners, where a hard pull could lift one tile against another.
When the current took them, all three rafts moved together.
The combined deck rocked less than Adam’s had that morning.
A wave crossed Harlan’s side first, then Chloe’s, then his.
The rope between the first two tightened and slackened.
One weak tie would put that pull on every raft it joined.
“We could leave them together,” Chloe said.
“There’s room to walk.”
Adam looked at his purifiers, the planter and the cook stand.
His raft worked best when he could set the boxes where they caught light and keep its damaged corner out of heavy use.
Tied permanently, he would be moving Harlan’s catch and Chloe’s raft with every change he made.
A break on either side could drag all three sideways.
“At night,” he said.
“In daylight we separate and work.”
“Fine by me,” Harlan said.
“I need room for the net.”
Chloe looked from one to the other, then pulled the rope loose from her planter.
“Keep it short, then.
I need my shade back in the morning.”
They ate the little fish between them.
Harlan got the largest piece, though he said he wasn’t hungry, and Chloe made him drink from one of the bottles he had just received.
Adam cooked two more fish from the catch and put them back with the other six.
The panel labelled them cooked; they would still need eating soon.
He left the line in its slot for tonight.
After dark, Chloe stayed on her own raft and Harlan on his.
Adam sat in the middle beside the purifiers.
The joined rafts moved slowly under him.
He could hear Chloe shifting a bottle and Harlan settling his bad knee, ordinary sounds close enough to answer without opening Chat.