The Shadow Returns
The fragile peace, bought with the Sieve, was short-lived. Anja was testing a newly patched section of perimeter netting when a prickle of unease crawled up her spine. The air felt unnaturally still. Suddenly, a sharp cry tore through the quiet from the western watchtower. "Skimmer! Lookout! Skimmer on the horizon!"
Anja's head snapped up. There, a sleek, black silhouette sat silently on the water. It was much closer than before, a dark, predatory smudge against the grey sky. "It's them," a mender beside her whispered.
The skimmer remained for nearly an hour, a silent, unmoving predator. Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, it turned and sped away, melting back into the grey haze.
Two days later, it returned. "Skimmer! It's back! Western edge, and it's close! Too close!"
All work on the flotilla ceased. Every head turned west. This was not just a watch. This was a prelude. This time, the skimmer was brazen, making a slow, deliberate pass just outside their range. It was a low-slung, angular craft, a brutal patchwork of scarred, matte black plates. It moved with a muffled, powerful hum that vibrated through the water, through the planks, and into Anja's bones. Its prow was a brutal wedge of reinforced steel, designed not to cut through water, but to ram and tear. High in the main watchtower, Jaya stood, a pair of salvaged naval binoculars pressed to her eyes. Through the lens, the figures on the skimmer's deck came into terrifying focus. They were lean, wiry, and armed. One held what was unmistakably a military-grade pulse rifle. Another raised a sophisticated-looking scope, panning slowly across the flotilla. For a heart-stopping moment, the scavenger looked directly at Jaya. Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment. A predator recognizing its prey.
A Grim Council
Shortly after, Rupa convened an emergency council. The air in her small dwelling was heavy with unspoken fears. "The black skimmer has returned twice," Rupa began. "It has observed us. It knows our vulnerabilities." She turned to Jaya. "Report." Jaya's voice was flat. "Today, it was bolder. I saw them through the binoculars. They're armed. One carried a military-grade pulse rifle. He looked directly at me, Rupa. He knew I was there."
The chilling details hung heavy in the air. After a long, heavy silence, Rupa straightened, her voice resonating with a new, fierce resolve. "We stand. We fight. We show them that the Lifeline Cooperative is not easy prey." Her words were a declaration. "Jaya," she stated, "you will have absolute authority over all defensive preparations. Your word on matters of security is now law. Every person, every resource, is at your command. You will prepare us."
The Mentor's Eye
The next morning, Jaya found Anja reinforcing a section of netting. "Leave that," Jaya said. It wasn't a request. "You're with me." She led Anja to a patrol skiff, its engine humming quietly. "You have an eye for systems," Jaya stated as they cast off, moving away from the flotilla. "You saw the flaw in the Sieve. You see how things connect. I want to see what else you can see."
They circled the Cooperative at a distance, the familiar collection of rafts and barges becoming a strange, vulnerable island on the water. "Report," Jaya commanded, handing Anja the binoculars. "You are the enemy. You are planning an assault. Tell me where we are weak." Anja hesitated, then lifted the heavy binoculars to her eyes. At first, she saw only their home. But forcing herself to adopt a colder, more analytical perspective, she began to see what Jaya wanted her to see. "The western flank is strong now," Anja said slowly, panning across the newly reinforced nets. "But the patrol routes are too predictable. You can set a clock by them."
She focused on the older, residential platforms on the eastern side. "The lighting there is poor. And there's a blind spot here," she pointed, "between the old grain barge and the main pontoon. A small raft could slip in there at night, completely unseen."
Jaya listened without comment, her expression unreadable.
"Our biggest weakness isn't a place," Anja said finally, lowering the binoculars. "It's our routine. We're builders. We think in straight lines, in predictable patterns. They are hunters. They will look for the gaps in between."
Jaya took the binoculars back, a flicker of something that might have been approval in her sharp eyes. "You see the whole board, not just the pieces. Good. That can be taught. Your next lesson is how to move the pieces." She turned the skiff back toward home. "Your work in the mending bay is done. From now on, you report to me."
The unspoken mentorship was now a formal command. Anja felt a tremor of fear, but also a surge of profound, terrifying purpose. She was no longer just a mender. She was becoming a weapon.
A Glimmer of Invention
While the adults sharpened spears and wove thorned nets, a different kind of project took shape in a quiet corner of the flotilla. Inspired by Anja's work on the solar array and Sami's own success with Leela's lantern, the children began a secret conspiracy of their own.
"It's not fair that Leela has to use the hand-crank lantern for stories," Sami said one afternoon, his small head bent together with Elina and a quiet boy named Ravi. "It makes her arm tired. We can build a better one."
"With what?" Elina asked, kicking at a loose piece of scrap metal. "Malik keeps all the good parts locked up."
"Not all of them," Sami said, his eyes alight with an idea. He led them to a less-used corner of the salvage area, a chaotic graveyard of discarded projects and forgotten parts. To the adults, it was junk. To the children, it was a treasure trove. They began their own "scavenge," their mission mirroring the adults' grim work but filled with a sense of play and boundless possibility.
Ravi, whose father worked with Niran, found a small, rusted bicycle gear. Elina discovered a spool of thin, flexible wire. But Sami found the heart of their project: a set of small, curved fan blades from a defunct ventilation unit.
He held them up, a triumphant grin on his face. "See? If we put these in the water, the current will turn them. Like a pinwheel," he explained, remembering a toy from a life before the water. "And the gear can make a little generator spin, and the wire can carry the power to a light for the school barge. A forever-light!"
Their project became a small pocket of defiant hope. As the adults prepared for destruction, their faces grim and their hands busy with weapons, the children were gathering the pieces to build a tiny, flickering light in the darkness.
A Vow in the Dark
That night, Anja reported for her first watch. Kenji handed her a freshly sharpened spear. It felt heavy and unfamiliar, its purpose a cold, hard reality that settled deep in her bones.
She stood at her post, near the rough, thorn-woven net, and looked out at the vast, dark water. The fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach. But now, it was overlaid with something new, something fierce and unyielding. She thought of Sami, asleep and safe. She thought of the tiny green sprout in the garden. She thought of the children, trying to build their forever-light. This place was her home. "They won't get in," she murmured, a vow against the night wind. "Not here. Not on my watch."