The Islands of Sand and Steel

Epilogue

Captain Christopher Rose relaxed on the deck of his new Sousa-class trawler, basking in the open space. After all of his time in an office, he met the rocking of the waves the way most men met their wives at the end of the week. Between the hardy hull beneath him, the mist and salt in the air and the hazy sky above, he was in paradise.

With difficulty, Christopher pulled his head out of the air and back into the real world. Sitting up, he drew a clipboard from beneath his chair and penned a few more lines.

"Writing a letter to the manager?" said Lennie, Christopher's right-hand man.

"Not quite," said Christopher. "I'm writing it straight to the big boss. I sent John down around the docks to do some tallying, and listen to this: apparently, two out of every five sailors in this company is native."

Lennie recoiled. "Two in five?"

"It's not so strange, is it? After all, with Kasi and Biko, our ship is one-third native. But this is what's really shocking: on average, they're paid a little more than half what you and I are. For the same work, even! And not a one of them is allowed to make captain."

Lennie sighed. "I like the native man as much as you do, cap'n, but... you're going for politics again? We're just sailors, you know. You missed your calling, not being a senator."

"The big boss has a lot of respect for me, Lennie. And if this doesn't work, then I'll do it five years from now, when I'm sitting in his chair." Christopher set down the clipboard, having written three more sentences. "It took me a few weeks to get on the ocean," he said, "and then two years to make captain of that Burler-class. Two more years got me onto this Sousa, and after just one more and change, and I'm captain again! And I won't stop here, Lennie, I guarantee it. I'll own this company if I have to." He stretched his back and let out a contented sigh. "One way or the other, I'll see to it. In this company, the native will get a fair shake."

* * *

Engines groaned, and metal cables shook like guitar strings as they pulled tight. Creaking echoed through the underworld. Another bank of engines kicked in. Noise came from everywhere and went everywhere. The metal groaned louder, then at last, the first crack of light poured into the underworld, rendering pale the dark wooden planks of Serpent Hash.

Charlotte was forced to shade her eyes. She stood surrounded by workmen, watching as a slab of the underworld's ceiling, which had blocked the sky for so long, lifted away. The sturdy black and yellow arms of the cranes, scratched silver and smeared with oil, revealed themselves in the sudden light. For minutes, the slab rose, then edged away from the hole. A man gave a shout, and the slab was dropped, sending a horrendous clang throughout the underworld and up into the heavens.

The motors were silent, as though they too were awed by the historical portent. The underworld was being opened up. After so many years, it would no longer be out of sight and out of mind. More than simply uncovered, it would be civilized-- not with the sham civilization that the first colonizers had brought, with only disease and war for the natives, but true civilization for all. Men and women would live in harmony. Children would play, not fight, and they would go to school to learn decent skills. A generation would rise, free of the barbarity of urban poverty.

"Pretty sight, isn't it?"

Charlotte looked down and was surprised to see Harry Rossner, the new mayor of Serpent Hash. He was white, as were all freshly elected mayors of the newly incorporated underworld towns. White mayors were the most roundly unpopular compromise made in the cumbersome process of incorporating the underworld into New Trackton, but it would be only temporary. Native mayors would follow soon. That was not written in the agreement, but Charlotte knew the day would come. It was inevitable.