I looked over the collection of stuff piled on the wheelbarrow. “Socks and underwear, check. Kibble, check. Litterbox and litter, check.”

“It is winter in the Northern hemisphere,” Abi said.

She’d been making short statements all morning helping me to get ready. I’d done my best to hear them without being grateful.

I thought about what I had for warm clothing and realized I had almost nothing. I rummaged through the closet and found Dad’s old flannel long-sleeve I wore on the rare occasions the temperature would drop to around 20 degrees Celsius.

“You can trade for warmer clothes,” Abi said as I tossed it on the pile.

As I finished lunch, I heard the transport approaching. It sounded different from either of the common drones. Pushing the wheelbarrow out the door, I caught my first glimpse of the craft as it landed. It looked similar to the Osprey; a sort of helicopter-airplane hybrid. Each wing has a rotor that could tilt upward for vertical lift like a helicopter or tilt forward like a turboprop airplane. The fuselage was at least twice the size and smoother than the V-22 Osprey but otherwise shaped nearly identical.

The rear door lowered creating a ramp. The interior was more utilitarian than the quadcopters; the walls I could see were covered in cargo hooks.

I pushed my wheelbarrow up the ramp. 20 crates, 1 cubic meter each, stacked 2 high on either wall closer to the front of the craft. After the crates, an off-center, narrow hallway with a door on either side. The hallway opened to what you might call a cockpit if it had controls. Two chairs faced forward to a window that stretched 180 degrees around and filled the upper half of the front wall.

I backtracked and opened the first door; a bathroom equipped with toilet and sink, both of which were within the shower. I turned, bumping against the wall as I did, and opened the second door. A cot-sized bed, a floor-mounted chair, a desk, a shallow refrigerator-freezer combo, and the all-important coffee maker.

“Cozy,” I said to myself. I unloaded the contents of the wheelbarrow and pushed it back down the ramp to park it just inside the barn. Last thing to pack: the weaponized furball.

Stalker had been on flights before, he didn’t care for them but would cope. The biggest challenge was that he didn’t care for disruptions to his routine.

I found him on his favorite rug—2pm nap time—and picked him up like a baby. He stretched belly up on one arm while the other hand rubbed his belly and chest.

He purred.

This strategy for sedating him would only work till the door opened, then he’d know something was up. So I strolled around the living space petting his belly and cuing at him—yes, he liked that sort of thing. The purring reduced slowly into silence. I crept out the door and headed towards the transport careful not to wake the beast.

As I reached the top of the ramp, Stalker stretched and curled his paws in the air.

One eye peeped opened.

“Abi? Close the door,” I said.

Both eyes opened wide and he began shifting his weight rapidly and clawing out at my chest for a grip. The ramp lifted into position closing off Stalker’s one escape route just as I had to release him else lose a limb.

Stalker landed on the ground, paws on metal, and hunched.

I gave him nearly an hour to explore the storage space, room, cockpit, and bathroom while I unpacked and looked over the manifest. He still seemed agitated but had relaxed significantly.

I slipped out the side door, obscured behind crates, and returned moments later with his rug. Unrolled, the rug fit almost perfectly in the bedroom; one edge curled slightly up the chair’s leg.

“All set?” I asked Stalker.

He sniffed at the rug seemingly unsure if he recognized it.

“You’ll just have to get used to it,” I said and stepped over him to enter the cockpit. As I sat, Stalker jumped into the other chair.

“Liam, are you ready to go?” the fur muffled voice of Abi asked.

I carefully tugged the tablet out from under Stalker.

“Ready.”

#

25 hours non-stop to a region known as Florida. With the cabin door shut, it was surprisingly quite inside the cockpit. Likewise, the bedroom also had excellent noise cancelation. We flew North into the sun which Stalker enjoyed; his normal routine required a few hours of sunbathing mid-afternoon. I had Abi darken my half of the window.

When dinner time came, I found that the fridge had a wide selection of my favorites. Each meal intended to be heated had a 2-dimensional matrix label printed on top for the microwave to read.

“Chicken vindaloo for dinner,” I said. I found that the fridge was also prepared for Stalker. “And for you, cat, chicken pâté.”

We arrived in “Florida” around dawn.

Abi alerted me of our impending arrival and briefed me for the meeting. “This tribe has been in contact via a network of radios. They know you’re coming but don’t expect a friendly welcome party.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Great.”

“They have cured tobacco to trade.”

“Tobacco? As in for smoking?”

“Yes. They grow and process it. Tobacco is a valuable commodity to them. You must pretend that it is to us too.”

“What for? We aren’t going to smoke it.”

“If we give them resources without a trade that they feel is fair, they will believe we are attempting to obligate them. As they have nothing of value to the incorporated tribes, we will accept what they treat as valuable.”

“I see.”

“I hope you do, Liam. This relationship will not only help to incorporate this tribe, but also help to establish trust with neighboring tribes.”

The vibration shifted and I watched as the view out the window point upward into the sky; the precision of the maneuver resulted in almost no perceptible change in “down”. Stalker, in his copilot position, didn’t even wake up until we landed with a light thud.

“Liam, several in the tribe are carrying weapons. I don’t believe there is reason to be alarmed but wear the earpiece so I can keep you up to date.”

“Right, don’t be alarmed by the guns pointed at me. Got it,” I said.

“You’re a bit alien to them. Most haven’t ever seen a flying craft up close, or at all. You scare them but once they get a chance to start talking to you, I project that they will relax.”

“If they don’t?”

“I estimate a less than a twenty-five percent chance you’ll be shot at. With my help, much lower.”

I take a deep breath. “You’re real funny, Abi.”

With Stalker closed in the cockpit, I stood in front of the rear door preparing for it to open. As it did, a man and a woman came into view holding rifles pointed up into the craft. I put my hands up; tablet in one hand, chocolate bar in the other. They lowered their rifles, still at ready but no longer pointing anywhere particular.

“Hello, my name is Liam.”

“My name is Dondra,” the woman said.

The man glanced at Dondra and then back to me. “Name is Geo.”

I kept my hands up. “Dondra, Geo, you’re welcome inside or I’ll come out to you.”

Dondra chuckled. “I’ll come up there if you don’t mind. I’ve always wanted to be inside a working airplane. You can put your hands down.”

“Sure. Umm. Welcome aboard,” I said. I recalled that it was what people said in movies when inviting people onto a boat or aircraft and hoped it was the polite thing to say.

Dondra walked up the ramp and looked around brushing her hand along the metal wall, cargo hooks, and straps.

“When I was a kid,” she said, “there were a few dead planes that hadn’t been entirely scrapped. I played in them and pretended to fly to the places I read about. It’s neat to see one working.”

I watched as she approached the 3 closed doors at the front-end of the craft.

“Umm, careful with the door at the end. My cat is in there, I don’t want him running out.”

Her eyes lit up and she glanced between me and the door.

“Can I pet the cat?”

#

When we came down the ramp with a crate on the hand-truck, dozens of people stood around. Some touched the transport, others kept further back. As Abi warned, between guns and blades, it looked like they were ready to fight off the walking dead.

Geo opened the crate and began taking one package out at a time. I looked over the manifest and named each package he removed.

“Satellite telephone?” Geo asked.

I opened the manifest line item and read aloud, “Two-way communication device that connects with satellites in orbit—”

“Yeah, I know what a satphone is. We didn’t ask for none,” he said, holding the small box.

I continued. “Says here that it will allow you to contact WISE or even other tribes if you so choose.”

“But we cannot trade for this,” Geo said. “We can trade for the medicine and the tools, but ain’t got nothin for the satphone.”

I hesitated. Abi spoke in my ear. “Tell Geo this the deal: they take the phone which will provide information to them, including weather forecasting. In return, they’ll relay radio calls to WISE from other tribes.”

I told him—not exactly word for word.

He looked to Dondra. She shrugged. “Seems fair, Geo.”

“Does it listen?” Geo asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked back.

“Does it spy?” Dondra said.

I hesitated again. Abi again spoke into my ear. “Yes. When it’s on.”

I looked down at the tablet and said, “Um, yeah. Only when it’s on, though.”

Dondra reached over and took the package out of Geo’s hand. “We’ll just keep it off when we’re not using it, Geo.”

Geo didn’t seem pleased but returned to unpacking the crate. When we finished, a few people who’d been watching hauled over several cloth sacks and set them next to the crate.

“Ninety pounds of tobacco,” Geo said.

Dondra pulled a dark cylindrical object from a pocket and smelled it. “To sample,” she said and proffered it.

“Oh, no, thank you. It smells good but I don’t smoke it.”

“Liam.” Abi said in his ear.

Geo and Dondra looked at me skeptically.

I reached out and accepted the rolled tobacco and placed it in my pocket. “It’s for the kids. I mean, the young people really enjoy it.”

“Liam, open each of the bags,” Abi said. “When they ask, tell them you are looking for signs of mold.”

I did so. When I opened the second sack, the lie Abi had queued was applied.

“You’ll find no mold, friend,” Geo said.

Abi spoke in my ear. “Keep looking. You aren’t insulting them. You are showing that we value their trade.”

“I’m doing my job, friend,” I replied to Geo.

“Right ahead. Thanks,” Geo said.

I looked at Geo, trying to interpret what he’d said.

“He means that you are welcome to do your job and appreciates you doing it,” Dondra said. “I grew up reading books. Geo grew up fighting and farming.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Geo.”

I finished my inspection routine and Geo tied the sacks closed again. A few bold tribe members helped carry the sacks into the transport. Like Dondra, they touched the walls and observed every detail with wide eyes.

“Where are you going after this?” Dondra asked.

I looked at my tablet, Abi displayed the itinerary. “North, North-West a few hundred miles.”

“Do you have warm clothes for the snow?”

I’d never been in snow but the image of bulky jackets and earmuffs was conjured in my mind. “Nothing warm enough, I’m afraid.”

“I offer you a heavy coat. But you will stop on the way back to return it. The price is the candy bar you’ve been holding onto.”

I’d transferred the chocolate bar into the hand holding the tablet and had entirely forgotten about it.

I laughed. “Oh, yes, the chocolate. It was meant as a peace offering to the children.”

Her eyebrows raised and she smirked. “I’ll share with them.”

We completed the exchange. I was down 1 chocolate bar out of my stash of 12. In return, I had a wool coat that smelled like wood smoke, tobacco, and body odor.

“How many kids are there?” I asked.

Dondra looked suddenly solemn. “Those two,” she said pointing at 2 boys trying to turn a rotor by pushing on it, “and two more who are at our camp; they have malaria.”

“I’ve heard of malaria. Will the medicine cure it?”

She stepped towards me, her eyes searching mine. “Yes. That is what some of the medicine is for.” She paused and turned away enough to look at the two kids. She shook her head. “In the books I read, Africa is where people…” she paused, “children die of malaria.” She bit her lip and turned back to me, her glassy eyes looking into mine again. “And you… you don’t even know what it is.”

I looked away at the boys who’d managed to get the blades to turn somewhat with the help of an adult.

“I love Geo, but he doesn’t believe that the place you live even exists. For him, it’s all just a lie to convince us to surrender.” She put her hand on my shoulder and stepped in front of me. “When you come back, can you bring more chocolate for the kids? I want them to believe.”

I wiped my eye with my knuckle and nodded.