It wasn’t their first argument. It probably wouldn’t be their last.
Sam hated arguing. When he added up the total number of people he could really talk to, the number came to two: Edilio and Astrid. His conversations with Edilio were mostly about official business. His conversations with Astrid used to be about deeper stuff, and lighter stuff, too. Now they seemed to be always talking about work. And arguing about it.
He was in love with Astrid. He wanted to talk to her about all the stuff she knew, the history, the math even, the big cosmic issues that she would explain and he would kind of almost understand.
And he wanted to make out with her, to tell the truth. Kissing Astrid, stroking her hair, having her nuzzle close to him, that was all that kept him from going crazy sometimes.
But instead of making out and talking about the stars or whatever, they argued. It reminded him of his mother and stepfather. Not happy memories.
He spent the night on the lumpy cot in his office and woke early, before the sun was even up. He dressed and crept out before kids could start arriving to bug him with more problems.
The streets were quiet. They usually were nowadays. Some kids had been given permission to drive, but only on official business. So there was no traffic. On the rare occasions there was a car or a truck, you’d hear it long before you saw it.
Now Sam heard a motor. Far off. But it didn’t sound like a car.
He reached the low concrete wall that defined the edge of the beach. He jumped atop it and immediately spotted the source of the sound. A low-slung motorboat, a bass boat they were often called, was putt-putting along at no more than walking speed. With dawn just graying the night sky Sam c
ould make out a silhouette. He was pretty sure he recognized the person.
Sam walked down to the water’s edge, cupped his hands around his mouth to form a megaphone, and yelled, “Quinn.”
Quinn seemed to be fiddling with something Sam couldn’t see. He yelled back, “Is that you, brah?”
“Yeah, man. What are you doing out there?”
“Wait a second.” Quinn stooped down, dealing with something. Then he turned the boat toward shore. He beached the shallow craft and killed the engine. He hopped out onto the sand.
“What are you doing, man?” Sam asked again.
“Fishing, brother. Fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“People are looking for food, right?” Quinn said.
“Dude, you can’t just decide to take a boat and go off fishing,” Sam said.
Quinn seemed surprised. “Why not?”
“Why not?”
“Why not? No one’s using the boat. I found the fishing gear. And I’m still putting in my guard-duty hours with Edilio.”
Sam was at a loss for words. “Did you catch anything?”
Quinn’s teeth showed white in the darkness. “I found a book on fishing. Just did what they said in there.” He reached down into the boat and lifted something heavy. “Here. You can’t see it in the dark. But I’ll bet it weighs twenty pounds. It’s huge.”
“No way.” Despite his foul mood, Sam grinned. “What is it?”
“I think it’s a halibut. I’m not sure. It doesn’t look exactly like the fish in the book I got.”
“What do you plan to do with it?”
“Well,” Quinn said thoughtfully. “I guess I’m going to try and catch some more, and then I’m going to eat a bunch of it, and then maybe see if Albert will trade me something for whatever I don’t eat. You know Albert: he’ll figure out some way to fry them up at Mickey D’s and do fish sticks or whatever. I wonder if he still has any ketchup.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Sam said.
“Why?”