They walked to the harbormaster’s office together. The building perched at the end of a long pier, waves lapping at the support posts beneath. Inside, a grizzled Tillichi male looked up from a desk covered in nautical charts and equipment manifests.
“You must be dar’Tacharan. I’m Harbormaster Velik. Heard you’re looking to start a fishing operation.”
“I am. I have capital for a small vessel and basic equipment, and I understand the local waters can be profitable for those who know what they’re doing.”
“The most profit is in the spawnings, but they require larger operations and offworld trading. Smaller local operations can also be profitable—or deadly.” Velik pulled out a chart and spread it on the desk. “The fish runs are good here, here, and here. But the currents are tricky and the tides will kill you if you’re not careful. You said you have experience?”
“My grandfather was a fisherman on Ciresia. I learned from him as a child.”
“Ciresian waters are nothing like Tillich Two. You’ll need to relearn everything.” He tapped the chart. “I can sell you a license and point you toward equipment suppliers. But I’d recommend working with an experienced crew for at least a few months before you go out solo.”
Selik’s tail went still. “You believe I cannot handle a vessel on my own?”
“I believe you’ll be fish food if you try. No offense, but I’ve seen too many confident newcomers get themselves killed because they thought their experience elsewhere translated.” Velik leaned back in his chair. “There’s a captain named Drov who runs a mid-sized operation. Good male, fair employer, knows these waters better than anyone. He’s always looking for strong backs. Work with him for a season, learn the local patterns, then strike out on your own if you still want to.”
Selik clearly wanted to argue, but he forced down his pride and considered the advice logically.
“This Captain Drov would be willing to hire someone with my limited local knowledge?”
“If you can pull nets and follow orders, he’ll hire you. Pay’s not great, but it’s steady.” Velik scribbled something on a piece of scrap material. “Here’s his comm code. Tell him I sent you.”
They left with the contact information and a stack of regulations Selik would need to study before applying for his license. Mikoz had fallen asleep against Corinne’s shoulder, exhausted from all the new stimulation.
“Well,” she said as they walked back toward their house. “Looks like we’re both going to be working for other people for a while.”
“It is sensible.” He didn’t sound happy about it.
“Hey.” She bumped her shoulder against his arm. “We’re going to be fine. You’ll learn the waters, I’ll learn to gut fish without losing my fingers, and in a few months we’ll reassess. That’s what normal people do. They work and save and build toward something better.”
“I am not accustomed to patience.”
“Yeah, I noticed. But you’re going to have to get used to it, because this is our life now. Slow and steady and boring and safe.”
He pulled her close, mindful of the sleeping infant between them. “Safe is good. I will learn to appreciate slow and steady.”
“Good. Because I’m really looking forward to boring.” She kissed him lightly. “Now let’s go home and make dinner and pretend we’re a completely normal family living a completely normal life.”
“We are not even remotely normal.”
“Fake it till we make it, warrior. Fake it till we make it.”
That evening, Anya returned from exploring with Jarrek in tow. The boy was lanky and sunburned, with a row of small white horns and the callused hands of someone who worked outdoors. He seemed nervous meeting Selik, which showed good judgment.
“Sir,” Jarrek said, extending his hand for a formal greeting. “I’m Jarrek Drov. I work on my father’s boat, and Anya said you’re looking into fishing operations?”
Selik studied the boy with unnerving intensity before finally accepting the handshake. “I am. Your father is Captain Drov?”
“Yes, sir. He’s been working Tillich waters for five years. If you need advice or want to talk to someone who knows the business, he’s usually at the docks around dawn.”
“I will seek him out. Thank you.”
Jarrek nodded and turned to Anya. “So, tomorrow? I can show you the good spots in the market. There’s this vendor who makes these amazing pastries and?—”
“After her studies,” she interrupted. “And home by sunset.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jarrek bobbed his head respectfully. “I’ll take good care of her.”
After he left, Anya flopped dramatically onto the couch. “You two are going to scare off everyone who tries to be my friend.”
