“Wait . . . you mean, no barter?” Jake was finally roused. “That’ll cut ninety percent of their trade! Who can come up with hard currency on a regular basis?”

“How can denfolk come up with it,” corrected Rubio. “They’re looking to change their buyer base.”

Jake said, “It would mean starvation for anyone not producing their own food.”

“Of course. But the Association is all puffed up, going on about ‘running this place like a business!’ For whose benefit? The old survivors’ camaraderie is out the window.”

Rubio asked, “And so, the boat?”

“Thought I’d give it a try, before they raid my shed in the name of security.” Daniel dug a scrap of fabric from his jeans to wipe his face and hands. “They don’t own the waterways.”

“Not yet.” Jake sat back, drumming fingers against his knees. “Not allowed off the Island but can’t go anywhere else. Squeezed from both sides. What’s the point?”

“Starve us out,” said Rubio. “It’s a grab for diminishing resources. Same as the Mainland. With more people crammed into a smaller landmass, it’s inevitable.”

“Thanks for the long view.” Jake heaved himself out of his chair with a heavy hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Enough. Get some sleep, dude. I’ll pass it all on to Rousseau.”

“There’s a solution. We just have to find it.” This declaration restored Daniel’s cheer. He pounded a soft dance rhythm on the table and smiled around. “Which reminds me . . . after dinner’s the perfect time to settle down with a good book! I was heading over to Riverhome for the night, but I think I’ll move the boat to the walkway and open up for business. Want to come browse?”

Jake reminded us how he felt about boats and took himself off to find Rousseau.

I nudged Rubio. “What do you say?”

Rube shook himself out of a dark study. “Got any art books?”

Daniel laughed and scrubbed his palms. “Sure do. Lots left behind after every evac. Too heavy to carry with all that ocean coming at you.”

Rubio brightened. “You ever think about museums? Like, being able to go look at a Rembrandt or a Manet, even a Dos Santos, the real thing, whenever you want? I miss that.”

“Me, too. But a book’s the next best thing.”

We scooped up Breakers and Jenn on our way out. They’d moved on to galleries and gallery owners they’d like or hated.

Breakers said she’d look for exhibit catalogues. “Remember those two guys uptown that stayed in business through the evacs selling work about the destruction downtown? Wonder if they’re still around.”

“Why not?” returned Jenn. “Their clients were mostly rich Mainlanders, who still make their gawking-tourist visits.”

“Maybe not much longer,” said Rubio.

“Oh, think positive! People will like you better!” Jenn slapped him playfully on the arm. “So what did that cute guy have to say to you all?”